


Love is Garnish, Love is Blind

by Maxine (WinchesterPooja), spnxbookworm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Boys Kissing, Comedy, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Family Drama, Fuck Or Die, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Castiel (Supernatural), Grieving Dean Winchester, Grieving Sam Winchester, Harry Potter References, Humor, Hurt Jack Kline, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kinda, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Protective Sam Winchester, Psychic Sam Winchester, Romance, Romantic Soulmates, Sick Jack Kline, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Therapy, romcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinchesterPooja/pseuds/Maxine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnxbookworm/pseuds/spnxbookworm
Summary: Dean Winchester has many problems. His mom’s dead, and it’s all Jack’s fault. He’s not sure he wants to call it an accident or a mistake. However, when Jack ends up having his grace stolen, Dean finds himself on a path to track it back down with Sam and Cas at his side.But Sam’s not doing so good either, and as it turns out, neither is Cas. Here’s Dean’s biggest problem, though: he’s suddenly, terribly, horribly attracted to Cas and he doesn’t know where it even came from. It’s definitely not been this way for years, like Sam insists.Yep, Dean Winchester has many problems, and being in love with Cas is probably the biggest of them all.Canon divergent after episode 14.18 “Absence.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 51
Kudos: 209
Collections: DCBB 2019, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Coping

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to our DCBB 2019! 
> 
> This year was probably the most hectic for both of us. We have shed literal blood, sweat and tears to get this fic done on time. We really, really hope you like it! 
> 
> We wanna start off by thanking our lovely betas [remy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy) and [darcydelaney](https://darcydelaney.tumblr.com/) for being literally the fastest betas on earth. You girls helped us immensely and this fic wouldn't be as close to anything it is now without you two. 
> 
> A huge thank you to our wonderful artist angeltortured who's art made us squeal to no end, not to mention they've been the most wonderful person to work with! Please do go check out their art post [here.](https://angeltortured-artblog.tumblr.com/post/189082094535)
> 
> And last but definitely not least, we want to thank the wonderful mods of the DCBB for being absolute superheroes managing this Big Bang and being so understanding and accommodating when we ran into difficulties with this fic. It's meant the world to us, so thank you! 
> 
> **Warning:** This fic addresses issues of depression and anxiety through detailed therapy sessions. Please do not use them as a basis for your own mental illness, if any. It is merely an interpretation written by the authors, a.k.a., us.

It's like he's lost. He's gone.

_He didn't mean to do it._

She came in his way at the wrong time.

These are excuses he's giving himself because he knows. He knows what he did is not forgivable. That his fathers are going to hunt him down and kill him.

Like one of the common monsters they've hunted.

He's a monster. He's bad.

He killed Mary.

Lucifer is right. They're never going to trust him again. They probably want him dead right now. They are probably looking for him.

He can't run away from this.

He broke his family.

Jack curls further into himself, trying to take a breath through the thoughts assaulting him, but to no avail. It's just getting worse. He doesn't know what to do. He has nowhere to go. No family, no friends. He angered everyone.

He's bad.

He's Satan's son.

He can't be trusted at all.

He hears a rush of wind, a whisper, and there's a voice in his ears.

_Jack._

It's his mother. He doesn't know why she's here, but her voice threatens tears. He controls it. He doesn't know how he can still feel. Soulless people have no emotion and he isn't supposed to, either. This is maybe why it's good that Sam and Dean are trying to hunt him down.

His heart races. The tears prickle again. He doesn't let them fall (they're not allowed).

_Jack._

He blinks up through those pesky, unbidden tears and she's there, right before him. She's wearing a long, white dress, her hair falling past her shoulders as she smiles.

"You're not real," Jack whispers to her, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Go away."

_Oh, baby_. She holds out her hand. _Of course I'm real, Jack._

"No," he insists, voice shaking. He hugs his knees tighter, clutching on to the cuffs of his jeans as he grinds his forehead against the fabric. "Go away."

He hears her sigh. He screws his eyes shut so tight, pressing them against his knees, that he can see starbursts. She's not real. She's not real.

She sits next to him and he can hear her dress rustle. Then warmth, as a hand rests itself on his shoulder. A solid, comforting, _very real_ hand.

_Jack, look at me._

He takes a deep breath, then uncoils himself. Maybe he's finally dead again and this is heaven and if that is so, he's happy he's with his mother again. Even though he doesn't deserve heaven after everything he did.

She's smiling at him when they meet eyes, and she holds out her hand again. _Come on_, she says, _let's go home._

He lets a tear fall, and nods. "Okay, Mom." He takes her hand, feeling a shroud of darkness fall over him the moment he does so. He lets it fall, lets himself merge with it.

He just needs his mom.

**~o~**

When Cas takes a look at Dean, it's like all the anger has evaporated out of him. The righteous anger that Dean can be such an—for the lack of a better word—_asshole_. Because he knows Dean will come around. He knows it will get better. Dean is kind, giving, and nurturing. Not this. This is just a mixture of grief and… and something else. Cas doesn't know what. It angered him that Dean pointed a finger at his son, _their_ son, but he knows that he and Sam can bring Dean around. And Cas is glad to have Sam by his side for this.

He wonders sometimes if he forgives Dean too soon. If maybe, his love for Dean blinds him, but then again, he knows he loves the right person. Beneath everything Dean says and does, beneath all his anger, Dean is good.

_Dean is good._

"He'll come around," Sam had said earlier that day, sounding exhausted. "It's Dean, Cas. It's not the first time he's refused to talk because he's angry."

"I know," Cas had said. "This just seems much more intense, Sam. All that anger… it's not healthy."

Sam had snorted, and then massaged his temples. "It's Dean," he'd repeated, as if that explained it. To him, Cas thinks, it probably did – he had a lifetime of experience with his brother and his moods, and knew best how to navigate them.

Still, Cas couldn't help but worry. It must have shown on his face; Sam had looked up, given him a tired yet sincere smile, and put his hand on his arm. "He'll come around," he'd said again, voice softer. "Just give him some time, Cas. Let him work through it on his own. He just needs some time."

"I hope you're right," Cas had murmured, before squarely informing Sam that he too needed rest. Sam had given him that same soft, tired smile, and murmured something about waiting. For what, he hadn't said, but Cas had known he meant Jack. So he'd left Sam sitting slumped over a table in the library, and after that he'd taken to just wandering around the bunker, trying to get his own thoughts in order, trying to process the events of the day himself.

"Cas?"

Cas looks up. He has been thinking, drowned in his own thoughts for so long that he forgot he'd been standing right outside Dean's room. And there Dean is, still in the clothes from the funeral, holding his sweatpants in his hands, eyes empty. Like a man who just lost everything and doesn't know where to go from here.

Cas crosses the threshold. Dean blinks at him, then looks away. His shirt still has spots of blood from trying to help Sam earlier that day—or was that yesterday? Cas doesn't know. When did he meet Anael? When did Dean call him saying that they'd had a situation with Sam, and Jack had helped them, and that Jack was with Mary? To come back so they can all finish game night?

Nausea boils in the pit of Cas's stomach. Dean just sits there, silent, light from his lamp illuminating half his face, the other half in darkness, just like their lives. Cas can see each line threading through his face from here. Every little detail—every tragedy and trauma that Dean's been through.

Perhaps he'd been harsh with Dean, but he'd been so angry. Jack is good, and Cas knows that they just need to reach out to him. He knows that Dean is aware of it too. That he just needs to calm down to remember this. That he will, eventually, do that too, sooner rather than later.

Cas takes another step forward, swallows his residual anger. This is Dean. This is—

"Dean."

"Cas."

Dean's voice is a hoarse whisper and Cas wants to rush to hold him—comfort him, somehow—but he paces himself. Walks to Dean. "Hey," he says, "can I sit?"

Dean nods, not looking up. Just stares at those sweatpants, shoulders hunched, head bowed. Cas takes his place, trying not to rustle the bedsheets—_don't disturb Dean_—and he sits there. He knows exactly how this will go. Dean won't talk. They will spend some time in silence, after which Dean will say that he wants to sleep, and then, when Cas is gone, Dean will sneak into the kitchen and hit the bottle.

Cas raises a hand—he doesn't know why. To comfort Dean, maybe. God, he feels like everything is going in slow-motion. Like he's functioning in slow-motion. Like they're all underwater and drowning _drowning drowning_.

"I can't," Dean says slowly, suddenly. His voice is washed-out. Tired. Like he's scared to use it at all.

Cas nods, even though Dean's not looking at him. "I know—"

"No, _I can't_—why would he—?" He falls quiet.

Cas wants to hold him again, but he keeps himself in check. Dean looks up. The fine lines of grief marring his face seem deeper, more pronounced. More than when Cas was at the doorstep.

Dean blinks, nose red and eyes blank.

Cas sighs. "Oh, Dean." He raises a hand again, and Dean shuts his eyes, but Cas sees him, hesitates, and puts it on his shoulder. "We could take a walk," he suggests. "Call Sam. You like going in the woods sometimes, for—"

Dean cuts him off, shaking his head, then opens his eyes to look at him. They're not blank anymore. There's something else there, and before Cas knows it, Dean's hands are on his face, cupping them, and Dean's tilting close, and God, is this the moment, the moment they've been dancing around for ages—?

There is a sniffle. Cas opens his eyes, and is a little surprised that he'd shut them in the first place. Another sniffle, and Dean turns away, hiding his grief, making it private, but Cas is here and…what just happened?

His first thought is that he probably did something to make Dean feel this way, over and above all the grief, but no, he didn't, he swears he was just going to comfort Dean, and he hasn't meant to upset him further, much less reduce him to tears.

"I'll be okay," Dean says, voice thick, face still turned away, and Cas can hear the gentle hitch in his breath. "I'm-m sorry about that. You can leave."

"Dean—"

"Please." It's a whisper. Dean is begging. Cas moves forward, tries to put his arms around Dean, but it turns out worse than he expected when Dean flinches, breaths hitching again.

Cas jumps, getting off the bed and onto his feet, confused, heartbroken, and worried. Dean's shoulders shake, clothes rippling with his grief, and all Cas can do is stand there and sympathise and wonder what went wrong.

At that exact moment, thankfully, Cas's phone rings, and though he doesn't look at the name on the display in his hurry to exit this entire situation with Dean and talk to _anyone else_, Cas thanks his father as he quickly exits the room.

The relief, of course, is short-lived, because when Cas puts his phone to his ear, it's a familiar voice. "Cas?"

Jack doesn't sound all right in any way.

**~o~**

Jack doesn't know where he is. Where his mom is. All he remembers is yielding when she'd come to him, deciding to go with her, and then… then the darkness. Thick, velvety darkness that lasted many, many lifetimes. When he came to, it was an all-too familiar feeling. The sheer fatigue, the vague pain that was somewhere inside of him, and the most telling of all… the superficial, bandaged cut on his throat.

His grace is gone. Again. He's just lying there, spread-eagled on the cold ground, heaven knows where, and he's human again and he killed Mary.

He tries to reach for his phone. He doesn't know if the battery has run out but he needs to — needs to—

_Cas, Sam, Dean—they're never gonna trust you again._

He takes in a sharp breath.

_You can never trust them._

His finds his phone in the pocket of his jeans and switches it on. He had turned it off so his fathers couldn't follow him. He was scared of them. But he isn't anymore. He's accepted his fate.

There is just enough battery in his phone to last him maybe another half hour or so and he knows that Cas, Sam, and Dean probably want to kill him now, but he doesn't have anyone else. They're the only ones who can help him now. And if he has to die at their hands, it's okay. He's fine with it.

His hands are trembling too much. The phone threatens to fall from his grip. He dials Cas's number and puts the phone to his ear.

Cas picks up after the first ring. _"Jack?"_

"C-Cas?"

"_Where are you?"_

"I don't—" Jack swallows, "I don't know."

**~o~**

The library is quiet, almost too quiet, Sam thinks. It's been a while since Michael massacred all the hunters in this very room. Granted, Sam had not been a fan of the bunker having too many people, but he'd eventually adapted, and been happy to have people around. People who were trustworthy. People who had helped him, and whom he'd tried to help.

_Tried._

He _couldn't_ help them. He'd promised to protect them, to guide them, and they'd all ended up dead.

In this very room.

Now, the very same thing is happening to Jack. After taking Jack in, after vowing to help him and take care of him, they've lost him too. More than once. This time, Sam doesn't know for how long. How they're going to bring their son back. If they're even going to succeed at all.

Oh God. _Jack_.

Honestly, Sam doesn't know what to think, except that the Jack he knows wouldn't kill anyone on purpose.

_But_ is_ he the Jack he knows?_

Scrunching his forehead while rubbing his hands over his face, he takes a shaky breath. This is all getting out of hand, and for the first time in a long time, Sam has no idea how to react, how to fix this, how to do _anything_ for that matter. He doesn't know what to do about the hopelessness in him. The everlasting hopelessness that he'd managed to drown with the help of his job and his family. He doesn't know what to do about the grief and anger that boils inside him. Grief that they've lost their mom. Anger that they can't take a fucking break ever.

He doesn't know what to do about Dean.

He glances towards the war room and feels his heart clench as his mind throws a memory at him — of Mary bringing him a burger, while he'd been engrossed in his laptop, his mind set on one thing — to find Dean. It was a horrible burger and it tasted like crap but Sam had devoured every morsel of his mother's cooking. It was funny. Two years of having her and he still couldn't get enough.

He never could get enough of his mom.

Now she's gone and their lives are a clusterfuck again. It's almost like they never rest. Never get reprieve from all of this.

Those days—of having Mom and leading the hunters and looking for Dean— they all seem like a lifetime ago now. So much has happened ever since.

Sam sees them all in his dreams. He sees them every waking moment. All of those hunters who died within what was supposed to be a safe place, a home, a shelter. It never changed, and it hasn't gotten easier even with the time that's already passed. Sam doesn't think it ever will.

It's only gotten worse because now, Mary's in the mix. Sam can see her everywhere, pulling up a chair next to him, picking out books from the bookshelves, game nights, pizza nights, and beer nights of laughing, talking, and catching up no matter how often they met.

She was their mom. There can never be anyone like her.

He doesn't realise there are tears in his eyes until he hears footsteps echoing from the hallway. Footsteps that are slowly getting louder. He blinks rapidly and hastily wipes at his eyes, clearing his throat and turning to look.

It's Cas. He walks into the library, looking for the most part exhausted, but Sam doesn't miss the concern and worry and the way Cas keeps glancing at the phone in his hand. He stops at the entrance to the war room, hesitates, then stares at his phone, brows ridged and eyes narrowed.

"Cas?" Sam calls out, realising he did not notice Sam there, and feeling another pang of worry, because, what has happened? Is it Dean? Jack? _Both?_

Cas looks towards Sam and practically beelines for him, relief lighting his face up. "Sam. Thank God."

"Is everything okay?" Sam asks him.

The incredulous expression Cas throws his way almost makes Sam laugh out loud with irony. Of-fucking-course nothing is okay.

Their mother is dead, Dean's grieving in a way Sam's never seen before, and if he's being honest with himself, it's scaring him, and as if that's not enough, Jack, their son, is in the wind.

Right. He didn't need to summarise that shit for himself.

"Sorry, didn't mean it that way," Sam amends. "You look…worried."

Cas looks for a second like he's contemplating speaking at all, but then he talks. "Sam… Jack called me."

Sam raises his eyebrows. "W-What? When?"

"Just now."

"A-And? Was this from his phone? Hang on—"

Sam gets up to retrieve his laptop, but feels Cas's hand on his shoulder. "Sam, wait," he says, "I will have to go and get him."

"Why?"

Cas takes a breath, eyes sparking with worry. "He did not sound good. He sounded hurt, like he was in pain. He said something about his grace being taken away. I'm not sure—he's not very coherent."

It feels like the floor's been ripped out from under Sam's feet, the world around him doing a dizzy spin. He grips the edge of the table to steady himself. "What?" he manages to choke out.

Cas nods, mouth upturned, face grim. "Look, I know what he's done is bad. Mary didn't deserve this."

Sam's throat tightens at the mention of his mom.

"But this is Jack," Cas continues. "He's… Sam, he's a child. He needs guidance. I'd understand if you'd rather I take him somewhere else but he's _our_ responsibility."

"No, no, you don't have to explain that to me," Sam tells him. "I agree with you and you're right. He needs to come home. We'll figure this out, like always. Bring him back, Cas."

Cas casts a look towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. "Dean…" He trails away and Sam's heart shatters at the look of anguish on Cas's face. They've both tried so hard to help Dean cope, to understand, but it's been to almost no avail.

"Go," Sam assures. "I'll handle Dean."

Cas hesitates, then lets out a breath. "Jack said he doesn't know where he is. His phone's battery is apparently running out. Can you… can you help me?"

"Right, sorry," Sam says, moving again for his laptop. "I was getting to that, I'll just—" He rushes over to the armchair at the war room and fetches his laptop, relieved that he has something to do right now. He opens it, rambling all the way to his friend. "Of course, Cas, I'll help. We can track his phone and you could take one of the cars and leave while I keep track from here. That good?" He can do this. He can be of help.

"Thank you," Cas replies, and watches as Sam opens his laptop, connecting online, typing quickly, and in a few seconds, pulling up Jack's coordinates. Sam keeps staring at them for a bit, then opens a new window to see where they lead to. He frowns, but feels relief when he sees where Jack actually is.

"Huh."

"What happened?" Cas asks him, standing at his shoulder, watching and learning. Sam feels a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips at his friend's determination to keep adapting.

He turns around to face Cas. "Jack isn't actually too far away. He's just about an hour's driving distance from here."

"That's good," says Cas, "I will be back in a few hours. You'll—?"

"I'll be here," Sam reassures him, "and like I said, I'll keep an eye out for Dean while I'm at it."

"Sam, are you—?"

"I'll be all right," Sam lies, "I – I just need something to do right now."

"I understand."

"Go get him back," Sam prods Cas, "I'm good."

Cas doesn't look like he believes Sam, but he pockets his phone and makes his way out, taking the steps, then shutting the door behind him, slow and grating.

Sam watches him leave, feels the loneliness settle deep in his soul—the grief, pain, shock, and fatigue, and buries his face in his hands, his tears ceasing to hold themselves back anymore. Jack is hurt. Jack is not all right. He's not coherent and he needs help.

God, they can't afford to lose Jack too. Not again. Not after all of this.

He hears footsteps again. The tears still come, and when Sam can't control them soon enough—can't wipe them away fast enough, he knows he's screwed.

"Hey," a low, gravelly voice calls out to him, and Sam looks up, helpless, eyes still streaming, at Dean. Dean stares back, his own eyes red rimmed, and nods, before walking over to come and sit at the table. He clears his throat.

"Wanna get drunk?"

Sam shakes his head, vigorously wiping his eyes with his sleeves.

Dean watches him, doesn't say anything. He stands back up. "I'm making dinner. Want some?"

"No," Sam whispers.

"Okay." He walks away.

It's silent again for a long, long time after that.

**~o~**

Jack, if possible, had sounded worse than Dean, and Cas had to swallow down a million questions because he wasn't sure if Jack had any energy to answer him anymore. He doesn't call Jack again, just uses the coordinates that Sam gave him to race to his son. He does stop at a gas station to pick up some supplies—some Gatorade and crackers, the stuff that Sam and Dean used to get Jack to eat and drink when he'd been sick.

God, is it going to be like that again? Jack doesn't even have a soul to sustain his body anymore…

Cas snaps his mind out of its eternal place of worry and keeps going. He has to help Jack. He has to let Jack know that they don't love him any less—even after everything. That Jack is still welcome home.

He has to help bring Dean around.

But. He's so tired. He's just so tired and he doesn't know why. Angels don't feel fatigue or exhaustion. Angels are strong. Well, stronger, anyway, and he hates feeling so vulnerable. He hates being so useless.

He has to find Jack. He has to help Sam and Dean.

He speeds the car on.

**~o~**

Sam feels anxiety settle in his stomach when he loses Jack on his laptop. He calls Cas, who answers his phone and assures him that he's close to Jack, and that he'll call back when he gets to him. Sam cuts the call with a tiny bit of hope, then looks towards the kitchen, where his brother had vanished off to a while ago.

If they're bringing Jack back home, Dean should get to know about it.

Sam finds Dean at the stove, cooking something in a pan, beer in one hand. The food smells delicious, and his previously unresponsive stomach grumbles with telltale hunger. He puts a hand on it, then goes to join his brother.

Dean turns to him, nods, then takes a drink from his beer, and tosses the pan, getting the sautéing veggies to sizzle. Sam's mouth almost waters. Dean takes another sip of his beer. "Pasta," he says. "Thought I'd make some for your stubborn ass."

"Thanks," Sam whispers, moving over to cut the tomatoes and puree them to help his brother. Dean peeks into a pot of boiling spaghetti, then gets back to his veggies. Sam finishes halving the tomatoes and goes ahead to put them in the blender. There is silence for a minute as they work together, with Sam wondering how to bring up Jack's current situation with his brother, when Dean speaks.

"You got any idea where Cas is? The dude's missing, and when I called him, he cut it off after saying he'd call back. He hasn't called yet."

Sam nods, switches on the blender and lets the noise drown both him and Dean to give him time to think. He doesn't know if there is an easy way to break all of this to his brother. He watches the tomatoes turn into pulp, red everywhere like all those corpses and crime scenes he and Dean encounter on a regular basis, colour flying around in the little transparent plastic jar, so he can ignore Dean for a few seconds. Once he's done he turns the blender off to face his brother, who takes another swig of his beer.

"Well?" Dean demands of him.

"He's…" Sam presses his lips together, takes his time with it. "He's not here."

"I got _that_, genius! Where is he?!" Dean looks angry, a little desperate, and just when Sam thinks he's going to explode, his brother turns the stove off and comes to sit at the dining table, shoulders sunken, face crumpled, deflated and broken. Sam leaves his pureed tomatoes in the blender and takes the seat opposite him.

"Dean?"

Dean doesn't meet eyes with Sam. He puts his beer aside and buries his hands in his hair, staring at the wood, letting out short little breaths. Sam wants to put a hand on his shoulder, but he refrains from the action, because Dean needs to do this. He needs to go through his process.

Sam watches, and Dean looks up, hair messed up, hands on the table, eyes a little mad. "I shouldn't have said that stuff to him, Sammy."

"I think he understands," Sam replies, "but yeah, Dean, you should say sorry. I know everything's fucked up right now and thank God he understands that but really, it's not fair how you treated him."

"How I treated him?"

Sam presses his lips together. "He cares about you, Dean, but sometimes…"

"Sometimes…?"

"You can be really cruel."

"Is that why he left? B-Because I didn't mean to be _cruel_, Sam, I just. Mom's fucking dead and he didn't tell me…" Dean clutches at his hair and looks away. "I don't blame him for it, he knows, right? Should'a told him that… does he—?"

"Dean, listen." Sam's breath pauses at the fear in Dean's voice—the helplessness—then collects himself. "No," he says. He clears his throat. "No. There's… there's some stuff that came up."

"What?"

"He – he's…" Sam lets out a breath. "We found Jack."

Dean's eyes widen and his mouth opens, but before he can say anything, Sam raises a hand. "He's not in good shape, Dean, he called Cas from two towns over. Someone took his grace. He didn't even know where he was, we had to track him down."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "And?"

"And…" Sam swallows. "I told Cas to bring him home."

He watches Dean for a moment, preparing for the storm that will follow, but Dean doesn't say anything. He drains his beer, gets up, and goes back to his cooking, leaving Sam there, watching him. After a moment, Sam gets up to follow his brother, where Dean's mechanically checking on the spaghetti again.

"Dean," Sam pleads with him, "he's a kid. We need to give him a chance."

"He killed our mom," Dean says, no real conviction in his voice, and his whole tone scares Sam.

"I know. I _know_. Hey." Sam catches Dean by the shoulders, and turns him around to face him. Dean complies, eyes almost dead when he sees Sam.

"I know, Dean, that what he did was awful," Sam continues, "but—"

"Awful? _Awful_?! That's what you call Mom dying?" Dean asks him. "Oh, it's _awful_ that she died but it'll be okay? Life will go on!?" He looks away, lips snarling. "Get out of here, man."

"Dean…"

Dean doesn't even turn around to look at Sam. "Mom dying might just be _awful_ to you," he says, "but it's way worse for me. Leave."

"No," Sam refutes, tears prickling his eyes again. "It's not worse for you just because you knew her four more years, and it isn't just _awful,_ okay?" He can't tell Dean how he feels that his brother would accuse him of being all right with their mom dying. That he'd compare their grief. This has happened before and he won't let it happen again.

"I miss her as much as you do," he whispers.

Dean doesn't reply and Sam lets a tear fall, gathering himself to say what he has to say next.

"I miss her," he repeats, "but—" Nope. He can't say it.

He stops there, knowing it's not a good idea to continue. He tries to leave—maybe skipping dinner is the best idea after all— but there is a hand on his elbow and Dean's there, looking at him, daring him to complete what he'd begun saying.

"But what?" Dean urges him. "_But what_?"

"Never mind."

"Say it."

Sam shakes his head, wipes a palm down his mouth, but Dean's clutching his other elbow now, shaking him. "Say it, Sam."

Sam sighs, another tear falling out of his eye, joining the first one. "She's gone, Dean. And Jack," he takes a deep breath, and sniffs, "he's… he's ours. Mom's gone and it's fucked up, but we still have him and he's _ours_, man. We can't leave him to die. We have to help him. We wouldn't stop at this if it were you, me, or Cas. He's a kid. _Our_ kid. We fought tooth and nail to get him back not so long ago. You remember that?"

Dean's fingers dig into Sam's flesh before the vice-like grip loosens and his hands fall at his sides. He takes a step back and watches Sam wipe at his eyes.

"He doesn't have a soul," Dean tells him.

"There was a time when I didn't, either," Sam reminds him, "and Cas has never had a soul. We all got second chances. Why not Jack?"

"Because—"

"He killed Mom and our world just broke," Sam says, "and I get why you're pissed. But please. Just this once. Let's help him."

Dean turns away. "Don't you think it's time we let dying people just die? That we stopped bringing everyone back? You heard what Billie said. What Death said before her."

"Jack's not dead," Sam replies.

"He will die. We know what happens without his grace. We know how it goes."

"Yeah we do," Sam tells him, "so you want a two-year-old child to die a horrible death alone because he accidentally killed our mom?" A spark of anger ignites in his belly as he steps forward to Dean. "Is this what it's come to now for you, Dean?" The grief is draining away from him, the sympathy for his brother lilts, because Dean is being cruel and ridiculous and frankly, _appalling_.

"Anyway," Sam feels his nostrils flare, "Cas is bringing him home. We've both put up with you being an ass, but I'm drawing the line here." He wipes the wetness off his face. He's done shedding his tears. He's done being understanding. Dean is stubborn and won't listen, and there's only one way around this.

"Jack is coming home," Sam says, "and you can either be an adult about it or stay the fuck away from him." He makes to leave the kitchen, when he hears Dean from behind him.

"Dinner will be ready in a few if you want to eat."

Sam ignores his brother and walks on to his room, disregarding the hunger in his stomach as he dials Cas's number again. When Cas doesn't pick up this time, he hopes it's all going fine with him and Jack.

**~o~**

Cas finds Jack in an abandoned building in some no-name town, exactly at the location that Sam had guided him to. Jack is on the dirty floor, curled up, shivering, and Cas's heart sinks when he illuminates a way to his son with his phone's little flashlight. It's raining outside in light drizzles, the occasional grumble of thunder with lightning flickering down the dilapidated windows, and Cas kneels before Jack, who uncurls himself to look at Cas with the most confused gaze.

"C-Cas?" he whispers, then breaks into a cough, and Cas helps him sit up, one hand on his back.

"Let's go home, Jack," he says, heart shattering at the look on Jack's eyes.

"Are Sam and Dean still mad at me?" Jack asks him.

"No," Cas half-lies. "Sam helped me find you. Come on."

Jack nods and sits up with Cas's help, and Cas finds Jack's phone, puts it in his pocket, and is about to help him stand up, when Jack tugs at his sleeve.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Jack."

"I'm sorry."

His voice breaks, eyes watery, and it's all Cas can take before he gets to his knees to gather his child in his arms.

"You don't have to be," he whispers to Jack, a hand on the back of his neck, holding his trembling child as close to himself as possible. "We know."

"Okay," Jack whispers back, all blind trust and innocence, and Cas hopes for Dean to get over himself and come around when they get home, because he doesn't think he can watch his son break more than he already has.

He supports Jack to the car, lets him lie down in the back seat, takes a deep breath, and dials the number to Dean's phone. Maybe things will get better from here. He can only hope for that.


	2. Dean's Itch

**2\. Dean's Itch**

The roads are wet and empty as Cas speeds his car through the moonlit streets. He turns around on occasion, checking up on Jack who is curled up in the backseat under Cas's trenchcoat, slats of silver from the moonlight accentuating the pallor of his cheeks. Jack coughs once, twice, then another time, and Cas winces because the coughs sound like they're grating Jack's insides, and there's nothing he can do to ease the pain for him.

Once or twice, Cas has to pull over to rush to Jack's side because he's choking and struggling to breathe. In the loneliness and quiet of the night, Cas holds his child close to comfort him, to try and calm him down, and looks on ahead at the distance they have to travel to get home. It seems far too much right now.

"Who did this to you?" he whispers to Jack as he helps him rest again, pulling the trenchcoat over his boy. "Did you see them?"

Jack shakes his head. "She… they… whoever they were, looked like Mom," he rasps. "I thought it was her. I didn't see their real face."

Cas puts a hand to Jack's warm forehead, marvelling at the fact that Jack, the most dangerous creature in their world, can still want his mother so badly that he fell for a trap like that. How on earth can Dean possibly think the way he does? About Jack?

The whole thought of it makes Cas so angry. He is _so_ pissed, even though he knows, he knows just how much he loves Dean, and has loved Dean… since the beginning. Even though they'd almost kissed. That doesn't mean that Dean can do no wrong, and that doesn't mean Cas can take whatever Dean does lying down. But the kiss. That kiss. How Cas could have slipped like that, he isn't sure. Dean wasn't supposed to know. Isn't supposed to know. This could spoil everything they have and Dean might not even feel—

Cas swallows down his emotions. Jack needs him right now, and he can worry about the other thing later. The other thing being… he's in love with Dean. He has been for a while now. It feels so good to admit it to himself, if not to Dean, and… No. No. _Not now_.

He turns his attention back at his son, his son who lies there in the backseat, sick and dying _again_.

"It's okay," Cas says to Jack, "we'll find whoever it is. We'll get your grace back."

"Okay."

Cas's heart shatters at the sheer trust in Jack's voice, his reverie only broken when his phone rings. It's Sam, and Cas takes the call. "Yes, Sam."

"Hey, Cas," Sam says. "Any idea how much longer?"

"We're about twenty minutes out," Cas tells him. "Sorry I didn't call back. I got Jack."

"How is he?"

Bad. "He…" Cas hesitates, "Sam, he's not feeling well."

There is a pause, like Sam's trying to gather himself on the other side of the phone line. "Okay," he says, finally, "we'll deal with it."

"And Dean?"

"We'll deal with it," Sam repeats, and Cas closes his eyes, knowing that Dean still isn't on board.

"All right," he says, "I'll get back as soon as I can, Sam."

"Okay, Cas." Sam clears his throat. "See ya."

Cas cuts the call and gets into the driver's seat, turning on the ignition and speeding home.

**~o~**

They'd almost kissed.

Dean runs his fingers through his hair, rubbing at his scalp as the moment comes back to him over and over. Of Cas leaning over and Dean almost giving in. Until…

Until Dean had fucking _broken down_.

God, that was embarrassing. Not the kissing. Dean doesn't know what that was, but he's kissed people on dares in high school, and it wasn't a big deal for him, really. He hopes it wasn't for Cas either. People kiss casually sometimes, right? It doesn't have to mean anything. What Dean's more concerned about is the part after the kiss. _Oh God_.

What _was_ that kiss anyway? Or the almost-kiss? The grief and anger and indecision fuelling both of them to try and do something like… that?

Maybe.

Dean doesn't know.

He's mad right now that both Sam and Cas can ignore that Jack killed Mom. That Cas could lie to him about knowing that something was off about Jack. That Sam's calling him out on all of this clusterfuck instead of… _instead of understanding that after so long, after so, so long, years and years of having their mom dead, a tragedy that shaped them and their whole lives, she's gone again and_

And

She's dead.

He swallows back tears. Not now. Cas is bringing Jack home. Sam's mad and won't understand why Dean can't forgive Jack. They have to understand. Mom dying is not okay. They can't forgive Jack.

They can't.

Maybe Jack can come home and rest, maybe he can spend the rest of his days here. Dean isn't going to look at him or talk to him or forgive him. He won't let Sam or Cas guilt him into doing it either. He's had his share of grief and tears and heartbreak. Lost his share of people. He can't do this anymore and he can't keep bouncing back from shit like this, and going on like he's all right.

There has to be a line and Dean is drawing it. This ends it all. It started with their mom dying, and it ends the same way. Dean refuses to suffer again. If Sam and Cas want to continue, they can. But Dean? He's done. He's done for the rest of his life.

**~o~**

Sam is wary when Cas brings Jack in. He doesn't know why. He understands—knows, he thinks, how and why it all happened, but still, seeing Jack after everything, it's different. Jack is powerless now, soulless. Harmless. But he'd had a meltdown which killed their mom. He'd been dangerous enough to blow up their mother.

It's stupid, because Sam wasn't feeling this way right up until the bunker door opened with a loud creak, right up until he saw Jack's face. But Cas is here, supporting Jack downstairs, and Sam watches him – _them_ – and watches Jack teeter on the spot before every instinct in him pushes him to go forward and hold his son so he doesn't fall.

At that moment, just like that, it's all gone again. Jack's a kid. Their kid. And Sam needs to help him. It has never been simpler.

"Sam," Jack whispers in his arms, "I didn't mean for it to happen. It was an accident and I will make it right—"

"You need to get to bed," Sam murmurs to him, helping him off Cas and supporting him across the war room and down the stairs to his room.

"But you and Dean—"

"We're okay," Sam lies, hoping Dean won't get anywhere near Jack for a while. "Like I said, you should rest."

"Okay."

Jack is compliant as Sam leads him to the bedroom. Sam lets Jack sit on his bed, going over and rummaging through his cupboard for his pyjamas. "Should I run you a bath, or—?"

"I just wanna sleep," Jack replies from behind him, and Sam turns to see him sitting there, looking small, hugging his middle like a child. He meets eyes with Sam. "Tell Dean I'm sorry."

"He knows."

"It was an accident. I snapped. I didn't want the soul thing to—"

"Jack," Sam interrupts him, "w-we know. And we forgive you."

A weak smile lights up his son's face and Sam's heart breaks further when he whispers, "Thank you." Sam puts the clothes down and makes his way to Jack.

"You want me to help you change?" Sam asks him. Jack thinks about it for a moment, then nods. Sam helps him out of his t-shirt and grabs Jack's nightshirt, turning around for a bit when he hears Cas at the doorway, leaning against the frame. Sam smiles at him, unsure, then gets his attention back to Jack.

Jack lets Sam pull the nightshirt down his head, then hold the sleeves ready for him. Cas comes in and helps Jack take his jeans off, kneeling before him as he gets Jack into his pyjamas. It's like they're dealing with a child, Sam thinks, _their_ child. Jack doesn't look like he's weak enough to need someone else to dress him but the way he leans into Sam and Cas's touch, he seems like he just needed a bit of coddling.

He's two, Sam remembers. He may seem older but he's _two_ and he just wants to be two for a bit.

He sits at Jack's side, fluffing his pillows up for him before he eases him into his bed. He pulls the blankets over his son, watching him for a moment with Cas standing right behind, hand on Sam's shoulder. "Goodnight, Jack," Sam says. "Get some rest. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Okay," Jack replies. "Goodnight." Sam leans over and turns the lamp off at Jack's bedside, gets to Cas, and the two of them exit the hallway together. They don't talk, they just walk along, not sure where they're heading, but at the far end of the corridor Sam sees a shadow, and a quick glimpse of a figure moving away.

Dean. Of course. Probably about to go drink his whiskey and decide that Jack's evil when — when Jack's not. He's a child.

Dean knows that.

"Sam."

Cas's voice suggests that he seems to have sensed Sam's distress.

"I'll talk to him," he says.

"No, Cas, he's—" _Pissed_.

"I'll talk to him," Cas insists. "You should rest. It's been a long day."

Sam stops in his steps and turns to face Cas. Cas with his worry lines and kind eyes and his years and years of being in love with Dean.

Does Dean even know? Idiot.

Maybe this is how Cas falls out of love with Dean.

Sam knows that won't happen either, and is relieved for Dean's sake, because he's not sure how or why Cas would put up with Dean's assholery most of the time.

That's the thing, though. No one falls out of love with Dean. Not even the two-year-old Nephilim whom Dean probably (surely) wants dead. But no one falls out of love with Dean. Because this isn't Dean and Dean has never been like this, and Sam is sure Cas knows that too.

Sam's shoulders drop. He's so tired. Of everything.

"I…" he begins, voice getting caught in his throat, when Cas brings up a hand to Sam's shoulder.

"Go and take rest," he repeats. "I can handle Dean."

Sam knows he can. Cas might still be head over heels for his brother, but gone are the days when he stood quietly, taking Dean's shit.

"Okay," Sam says. "If you need anything, let me know."

"Sure."

Sam nods at him, tries to smile, but it just turns out to be a grimace. Cas goes on to the kitchen to talk to Dean while Sam retreats to his bedroom. Maybe he'll re-read something from his John Grisham collection or—

—nope.

He's just going to worry about Jack, Dean, and Cas until he falls asleep. He knows it too well now.

**~o~**

Dean stares at the nearly empty glass before him, hand absently twirling it. The last dregs of whiskey swish around at the bottom, a tornado in the storm. Somehow, even the whiskey doesn't numb his mind to the fact that Jack is in the same vicinity as him. He remembers a time he'd felt guilty for being so hard on the kid, for stepping on Sam and Cas's toes as they kept vouching for Jack. He remembers how he'd done everything in his power to make up for it.

Now, all he can think about is his mother's lifeless body in his arms and the _Nephilim _being the reason for it.

Dean doesn't care that it was a mistake. Maybe he's being an ass about it, just maybe. But after everything they've been through, he thinks that this time, he has a right to be pissed, a right to want the kid gone for good.

What's dead should stay dead, right?

But then the kid has the audacity to walk back into the bunker, and Dean is all set to storm into the war room when he hears Cas and Sam's voice mixed in with Jack's and just as he's rounded the corner…

Dean clenches his jaw as he sets the glass down on the wooden table with a loud _thud_ and brings up his hands to rub at his face. Everything is too much. He doesn't want to feel all this at once. He just. He _can't_.

Dean had stopped after he'd spotted the ashen look on Jack's face. The clear guilt and anguish and painmixed with confusion and fear and loss. Dean wants to blame his mother's death on him. He deserves to be blamed. Jack knows the extent of his power, he should have known better than to blow Mary up. After all the people that had gotten hurt prior to him losing his grace for the first time, _Jack should have known._

That's what Dean can't wrap his head around. Jack being soulless explains some of it, because maybe Jack was just so in over his head that he didn't think. Soulless people don't feel a damn thing anyway. Jack might have wanted her gone, and he made it happen.

Dean doesn't get one thing, though. Jack's face had shown emotion. Multiple emotions. How was that possible?

_God_.

Dean isn't sure what to feel or who to blame anymore. Honestly, Dean isn't sure who _he _is anymore.

He wants a child dead. Yeah, he knows about that, despite what Sam and Cas might think. He remembers that Jack is only two. But where was Sam with his preaching, that time when he killed Emma? It was fair then, was it, killing a child? Just because she'd wanted to kill Dean? Jack is way more powerful and definitely more dangerous than Dean's Amazon kid, and suddenly Sam and Cas refuse to listen to what Dean has to say. Fuckers.

They've lost too many people, too many times. It had started with Mary, and as of now, he's done. He's done losing the ones that are dear to him. It ends with Mary. He isn't losing anyone else.

If that means Jack has to die, then so be it.

_But you'd be losing Jack too, _says a small voice from within.

Dean makes a pained noise as he grabs the whiskey bottle next to the glass and pours out the last remaining bit as he registers footsteps outside the kitchen. He's just brought the glass to his lips when Cas turns the corner and stops at the entryway.

He hesitates, the glass suspended mid-air, a fraction of space between his mouth and the rim, but for only a second. The bitter liquid feels warm as it makes its way down his throat. The numbness intensifies.

Good, Dean thinks. With the look on Cas's face right now, Dean knows he'd rather be at least a little drunk. There's no way he can deal with _their_ clusterfuck sober. The clusterfuck of whatever happened earlier that day. As if Dean needs to be reminded of it.

He drains the glass in one go as Cas walks in and sits down opposite Dean. "You look like shit," he says, voice sounding more tired than usual.

Dean snorts despite himself. It's not often that Cas swears. "Nice to see that you noticed."

"Why wouldn't I have?"

Dean purses his lips, pretending to think. "I don't know. Maybe because you and Sam have been more worried about finding and protecting the _thing _that killed Mom."

This time, Dean notices the anger in Cas's eyes. He leans over the table, fixing Dean with a glare. "He is not a _thing._ He is our son. He's _your_ son."

"Whatever. You shouldn't have brought him back."

Cas shakes his head, looks at Dean in disbelief. "I understand your grief, Dean, believe me, I do. But the way you're behaving right now, in this moment, is frankly, disgusting, and highly hypocritical."

"How the fuck am I being a hypocrite?" Dean snaps.

"You didn't give up on Sam when he drank demon blood and unknowingly aided in releasing Lucifer. You didn't give up on me when I went hungry for power and ended up releasing the Leviathans from Purgatory. We stood by you when the Mark of Cain was turning you into something you didn't want to be. Why is Jack any different?"

Dean stays silent, jaw set stubbornly.

"Sam was soulless once," Cas says quietly. "He did things neither you nor I would ever condone. And you forgave him, you looked out for him, and you made sure he understood it wasn't his fault."

Just like that, the anger and indignation drains out of Dean and it's replaced with exhaustion and age-old grief. "He killed my mom," Dean whispers brokenly, blinking rapidly in an effort to control the tears that threaten to spill over.

"I know."

They sit in silence, Dean's hands tracing the rim of the whiskey bottle. "What do you want me to do?" Dean asks. "I can't just…" He trails off. _I can't just forgive him. Not right now. Not when Mom is gone and I know she's not coming back. Not now that I've lost her, __again__**.**_

"Come on," Cas says, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to Dean.

"What?" Dean says, staring at Cas's hand.

"You need to clear your head so let's go. We'll shop for some supplies."

"For Jack?" Dean questions bitterly.

Cas looks back at Dean, his expression sincere. "For all of us."

Dean hesitates before slowly putting his hand in Cas's and allowing his friend to lead him out of the kitchen and towards the exit of the bunker.

**~o~**

A sharp twinge pulls at the back of Sam's neck and he barely keeps from grunting in pain as he slowly eases his neck back into a normal position. He'd fallen asleep on the wooden chair at Jack's bedside, head resting backwards at an odd angle. He'd meant to head to his own room but after thirty minutes of tossing and turning, he'd decided he might as well watch over their kid.

His gaze falls to his sleeping son as he massages the back of his neck. He looks so... _small._ Sam has no other word to describe it. A serious sense of déjà vu haunts him, knowing they've been in this position before.

Jack being sick and slowly edging towards the brink of death.

They didn't give up last time, and Sam knows he's sure as hell not giving up this time, even if it means going against Dean.

Sighing, he hunches forward and rests his elbows on his knees, hands twisted within his hair. Sam knows Dean's distraught. He knows it's not his brother talking. Dean may be hard-headed and stubborn at his worst, but even he knows that wanting to kill a child is a really screwed up way of dealing with his grief. Dean has to know that; he _does _know that.

Right?

Not to mention he's effectively, intentionally or unintentionally, shutting everyone out. Sam didn't miss the longing and hurt on Cas's face as he watched Dean break under the despair of losing their mom. Sam's seen the way Cas looks at Dean when Dean isn't aware.

It's the way Sam knows he'd looked at Jess all those years ago, but Sam can bet Dean thinks friends look at each other that way.

Idiot.

"Sam?"

The voice is quiet and raspy but in the silence of the bunker, Sam can't help but jump. His head snaps up at Jack and he has to work hard to hide the wince of pain that shoots up the back of his neck at the sudden motion.

Sam leans back in the chair, conscious of his actions. It's stupid. It's really fucking stupid. He'd do anything for Jack, but right now, some part of him is wary, guarded. He's not scared. Not scared. He did just dress the kid in his jammies hours ago, like always, like it was nothing. Jack will always be their kid.

_Their kid their kid their kid_

Their kid, who killed Mom

What had happened with their mom — it was a mistake, and Sam acknowledges it. But that mistake was so powerful that if Jack hadn't worked to bring Mary back, they wouldn't even have had a body to burn.

_That's _what scares Sam. The extent of Jack's power.

Jack's voice cuts through Sam's thoughts. "You're scared of me," he says.

It's not a question, and the matter-of-fact tone in which it is said rips through Sam's heart. He looks into Jack's eyes and his breath stops in his throat at the understanding and resignation within the eyes that once held innocence and wonder.

"You should be asleep," Sam croaks before clearing his throat.

"I was, for a while."

"What woke you up?"

"I think I'm thirsty."

Sam gets to his feet. "I'll get you some water."

Just as he reaches the doorway, Jack's voice stops him. "It's okay, you know."

"What do you mean?" Sam asks, turning around.

"If you're scared of me. I understand. I'd be scared too."

Heart hammering in his chest, Sam turns fully towards his son. Sam knows soulless. He's _been _soulless. This almost sounds like Jack's trying to comfort Sam. Trying to empathize.

Soulless people don't have empathy.

"Are you?" Sam asks, quiet. "Are you scared of yourself?"

Jack purses his lips, looking away. Sam spots myriad emotions on Jack's face until it settles on a look of sincerity and...is that guilt?

"I don't know," Jack says, and Sam knows he's being honest. "I'm... still trying to figure it out, I guess."

Sam nods. "That's okay. You'll — no — _we'll_ figure it out. Together."

"Really? After what I did?"

"Yeah. Really."

"Thanks."

Sam nods and then waves his hand in a gesture that indicates he's going to be back in a few minutes and heads out the door.

Once again he's stopped by Jack's voice. "Are _you_?"

Sam turns back, throwing his son a questioning look.

"Are you scared of me?"

A weight settles at the pit of Sam's stomach and suddenly, it's harder to breathe. _No, Jack, I'm not scared of you,_ he wants to say, but his voice is caught somewhere under his heart and he barely manages to speak to the kid.

"I'll get you some water and then we'll talk," he says.

Before Jack has a chance to reply, Sam leaves, his mind racing a mile a minute. Sam loves the kid, and he knows he'd do anything for him, absolutely anything. Maybe before Cas brought him to the bunker, Sam may have been more wary than he cared to admit, but after the display of emotion and what is unmistakably empathy, Sam isn't sure how to feel anymore.

Avoiding Jack's question probably did more damage than good, Sam thinks to himself as he reaches the kitchen and starts pouring out a glass of water. "Fuck," Sam hisses under his breath. He should have answered Jack. Told him the truth. The last thing he wants the kid to think is that his own family is scared of him.

Sam is jerked out of his thoughts as a steady stream of water lands on his shoes, running off the counter top. He's overfilled the glass of water without realizing. He can't seem to do a damn thing right. He's fucking up something as simple as filling a glass of water.

_No. _Sam grits his teeth as he mentally reprimands himself for spiralling into negativity. This isn't what he needs. Right now, it's not about him. It's about Jack. It's about Dean. It's about his family. The family that remains.

Sighing to himself, he fills a jug on the way out of the kitchen, carrying it along with the now appropriately filled glass of water, so that neither he nor Jack have to get out of bed should the kid be thirsty again. He steadily makes his way back to the room.

He has one priority right now. Taking care of Jack and trying to figure out how to get his grace back. The rest can wait.

**~o~**

Dean is quiet, and it unnerves Castiel. Dean is usually the more talkative one, always uncomfortable with prolonged silence. Drunk Dean is even more chatty and Dean isn't exactly sober right now. What's even more concerning is that there isn't any music playing in the car either. The only thing that fills the tense silence between them is the constant but familiar rumble of the Impala.

Cas tries to initiate a conversation more than once but receives nothing but pointed and snappy one-word answers. Dean is guarded, grieving, guilty, angry, and God knows what else. He got mad when Cas offered to drive and now if they get pulled over, Dean's definitely getting a DUI. He doesn't seem to care about that.

Cas sighs inwardly. For the first time in his life, he's unable to understand Dean's needs. He's seen Dean grieve before—for Sam, for Charlie, for all the people they've lost along the way. But this time it's different. It's almost like a part of Dean is broken beyond repair. It worries Cas. Both in regards to Dean's mental state as well as what this means for Jack, for Sam.

Dean's known to lash out when he's hurting but never would Cas have imagined that his best friend would have been okay with killing a _child. _Cas knows for sure that this isn't Dean, not the Dean he's known all these years. But also, he's never encountered this side of Dean, this raw, agonizing grief that Dean's carrying around.

"We're here," Dean grunts as he turns off the ignition and steps out, silently heading towards the entrance to the mini-mart. His shoulders are hunched and tense and for the millionth time, Cas wishes he could just take that pain away. But this isn't a physical injury. It's not something he can heal with angel mojo, as Dean refers to it.

As Cas follows, he knows there's other ways to support Dean, to care for him, to…

But no. Dean probably doesn't feel the same.

Right?

_We almost kissed. _Almost.

Was Cas imagining that moment? Was it something he misunderstood?

He mentally shakes himself, disappointed in his own being. Here he is, wallowing in self-pity, hoping for something that's probably never going to be reciprocated while his son lies at home, slowly inching his way towards death. Dean has already picked up a shopping basket so Cas casts an eye around the store, making a mental catalogue of things they need. He watches Dean head for the beer section and sighs. Of course Dean's going for more drinks.

Cas decides to give Dean his space while he goes and picks up meds, tissues, and other odds and ends that he knows they need to stock up on. Balancing the items precariously in his arms, he makes his way over to Dean who is now examining a whiskey bottle with a frustrated look on his face.

He looks up when Cas walks up to him and despite their situation and the atmosphere between them, Cas is elated when Dean snorts and his lips curve into a smile. It doesn't reach his eyes completely, but it's a smile nonetheless. Dean silently holds out the shopping basket that contains a six-pack of beer but nothing else. He sets the whiskey bottle back on its shelf as Cas puts everything he'd picked up from the aisles, and surveys the items in the basket with a cursory glance before tilting his head towards the cashier.

They head to the front of the store to get their things billed and bagged. Cas flashes a social smile at the dark-haired cashier as Dean sets the basket in front of him. The cashier smiles back and starts scanning the items from the basket.

"So, you guys live around here?" he asks, looking at Dean, who nods but still stays mute. "Sorry, I'm new," he continues, "I joined a couple days ago. I'm Matt, by the way."

Cas decides not to make things more awkward than they are. "Castiel," he says, and then eyes his friend.

"Dean," Dean grunts in reply. He closes his eyes for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Matt's movements falter slightly as he looks at Dean with mild concern. "Bad day?"

Dean shrugs. "Yeah." He doesn't offer anything else. He just looks away, blank and tired. Worry and concern cement themselves within Cas as he watches Dean use mere gestures and one-word answers. This is so unlike Dean, it scares him.

"Okay, that'll be twenty-three fifty." Dean fishes out his wallet and silently hands over the cash, waving his hand in denial when Matt tries to hand over the leftover change. "Thanks," says Matt, smile widening "You know what? Here." He fishes two beer cans out from behind the counter. "These are on me."

"Oh, you don't have to—" Cas starts but stops as Matt politely holds up a hand.

"Think of it as my good deed for the day. You guys look like you've got it bad. Beer fixes everything. Plus, it's only two cans."

"Amen to that," Dean remarks. He allows Matt to put the cans into their shopping bags and marches out the door, supplies in hand with Cas following him, hurrying along. There is nothing but silence between them, except for the creak of the Impala's doors and then the familiar purr of the engine.

With the oppressive silence enshrouding them both, Cas hopes for many things. Hopes that they can find a way to get through this, hopes that _he _can find a way to get through to Dean. He fears that if he doesn't do it soon, they might lose _their _Dean forever.

**~o~**

"Thanks," Jack whispers as he sets down the glass of water next to the jug Sam filled on the bedside table. Sam doesn't miss how Jack's hands shake.

_How are they going to fix this?_

Jack leans against the headboard, eyes closed, taking in steadying breaths. Sam frowns. "Trouble breathing?"

Jack shrugs. "Not really. Just a little… uncomfortable, that's all."

Sam's worry kicks itself up a notch as he tries to remember how quick Jack got _really _sick the last time he'd lost his grace. That time, Jack had done his best to hide it from the rest of them. They'd not known he was bleeding, haemorrhaging, until the very end. And the seizures and the passing out and…

Sam shudders.

Maybe they still have time now because none of that is happening to Jack.

They still have time.

They have to have time.

They _will _have time.

Sam has to fix this. He can't lose someone else. Not again and not like this.

Not his _son._

"_Sam, are you okay?"_

Jack's voice sounds like it's coming through the end of a tunnel. Distant and echoey.

His son. His son is dying. Dyingdyingdying again. The blood and tears… the oxygen mask…

"_Sam. You need to breathe_."

Oh. That's why his chest feels tight. God, he can't have a panic attack. Not in front of his kid. He takes in a shaky breath, not even realizing he'd been holding it and ignores the shake in his hands as he runs them through his hair before rubbing his face.

"You're not okay." Jack's voice is still distant, but it's clearing up and Sam doesn't feel like he's dying anymore. "You just had a panic attack," Jack continues. "Cas told me about those."

It's a statement and if it were anyone else, if it were Dean or Cas, he wouldn't necessarily deny it but he'd brush it off. They have bigger things to worry about. But the look on Jack's face makes Sam feel like he can't lie.

But he can't just dump all his shit on Jack either.

Not on a child.

So he settles for the middle ground. "I'll be fine, Jack. This happens sometimes. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Jack nods but stays silent, his lips pursed. "You're sad. You look sad. It's because of me."

"Jack—"

"No, it is. I'm the reason you don't have a mom. I didn't mean to. I wish I never lost control."

Sam sucks in a sharp breath. He's not sure he's ready to deal with it. To listen. He's not strong enough.

"She didn't deserve to die," Jack continues. "I wish I could fix it but I can't. I tried and I failed." The emotion in Jack's voice surprises Sam yet again.

Unsure of what to say, Sam reaches forward to hold Jack's hand. He's not sure how to console him but he does know that he can't let Jack get overwhelmed. They'll deal with this once things are settled, but now is not the time.

"Jack," Sam says. "Yeah, I'm sad my mom's gone, but I'm glad that _you're_ here. I know you wouldn't hurt her intentionally. I know it was a...m-mistake." Sam clears his throat. This is the first time he's said these words and firmly believed them. Until now he wasn't sure… wasn't sure of anything.

The relief and unshed tears in Jack's eyes solidifies Sam's faith in his son. Jack may have lost his soul, but he's not evil. Not when he's beating himself up for killing Mary, not when he's worried about Sam's grief, not when he's accepting and understanding that he lost control. He can't possibly be as evil as Dean thinks he is.

God, and that feels so good. To know that. To believe it.

Sam's mind has been chaos, and maybe it still is, but a small part of him finds gratitude and joy at the fact that hope doesn't seem to be lost for Jack.

"Thank you, Sam," Jack says, pulling Sam out of his thoughts yet again.

Sam smiles and they lapse into a comfortable silence. Sam's almost convinced that Jack has fallen asleep until Jack speaks a few minutes later. "Can I say something?"

"Sure."

"You admitted that you're sad. I don't want you to be sad."

Sam feels his heart break a little. What has he done to deserve this kid?

"I won't be sad forever."

"Do you remember Mia Vallens? She helped me with my sadness. She helped me get closure with my mom. Maybe she can help you too."

Sam's heart skips a beat, unsure of how to respond. Is this kid seriously suggesting therapy to him? But… how can he go? Just like that?

It's not that he wouldn't try. He just doesn't see the point. Even with Mia being a shapeshifter and probably understanding better than most human therapists, who could ever deal with Sam's baggage? Plus, to think of himself right now when there's more important things to worry about, like Jack and his grace and Dean and his grief and Cas, how can Sam even think of putting himself first when he knows the others need him right now?

"Maybe," Sam finally answers, not wanting to completely disregard Jack's feelings.

"Promise me you'll think about it."

"I promise," Sam lies. He smiles as Jack yawns. "Get some rest. We'll talk later."

Jack merely nods as he settles into his bed, burrowing himself within his blanket, exhaustion clearly painting his face. Sam sees him relax, sees him get warm and comfortable, and watches over while he falls asleep. It seems like he's out like a light within seconds.

"Jesus," Sam mutters as he hunches over, letting out a whoosh of breath. He's exhausted too. He gets to his feet and runs a hand fondly through Jack's hair before quietly stepping out of his room. He hears footsteps as he enters the corridor, and looks up to see Dean walking towards him.

They stop, facing each other. "You alright?" Sam asks him, and Dean throws him an incredulous look, almost rolling his eyes. Sam sighs. "You know what I mean."

Dean shrugs and an awkward silence hangs between them. The last time they spoke, they'd gotten into an argument, and neither of them can forget it.

"Look," says Sam, "I'm not gonna take back what I said earlier, but I probably shouldn't have yelled."

Dean waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Beer?" he suggests.

Sam smiles inwardly, knowing it's Dean's way of trying to make things right. Sam nods and gestures for Dean to lead the way to the kitchen. They walk in silence that's more comfortable than the last time, and Sam thinks things might finally get better; that things might finally resolve between them.

Sam settles into his chair at the large table in the war room and looks up as Cas walks in with a six-pack in one hand and two separate beers in the other. He hands one to Dean and slides the six-pack towards Sam, who promptly takes one from the pack.

"We went on a supply run," Cas explains at Sam's questioning look.

"Apparently being moody helps get free stuff," Dean snorts as he clinks his bottle with Sam and Cas and they all take a sip. "Two free beers 'cause the guy thought I looked like shit."

Sam's grin falters. The "guy" wasn't wrong. Dean's eyes are bloodshot, dark bags under them. Sam doesn't miss the fine tremor that seemed to run through his older brother. It's also only been a minute and Dean's already downed half his beer.

This is grieving Dean 101. The drinking, the dry humour, the avoidance.

"I miss her," Cas says quietly.

Dean stills in his actions, his bottle halfway to his lips.

That's when it hits Sam. Cas has been so good at hiding his own grief, but Sam can't believe he's forgotten. Cas may have known Mary for the shortest time compared to the three of them, but he'd still formed a bond with her. They've hunted together, fought together. Mary considered him her son too. One of her boys.

Of course, Cas is grieving too.

Sam swallows. "Me too," he says, his eyes fixed on Dean who chugs the remaining half of his beer and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth before laughing humourlessly.

"Sure," Dean chuckles, running his wrist over his mouth. "You two are just broken up about Mom. I can see that." He laughs again, blank and humourless, and Sam's annoyed.

"Something funny?" he challenges his brother because he can't believe him. _Ugh_. He knows he's practically provoking Dean at this point, but the expression that clouds Dean's face is the same one he's had every time he's talked about Jack.

"Yeah. It's _funny _that I'm the only one that has a problem with Mom's killer being on the same premises as us."

"Dean—" Cas starts, tone reprimanding.

"No, Cas, just shut up, okay?" Dean snaps at him. "I can't fucking do this. I'm not going to fucking sit here and talk about _her _like her goddamn murderer isn't in the same fucking building," Dean snarls as he jumps to his feet. He slams his now empty beer bottle onto the table. "I'm going to bed," he says.

He stalks off towards the bedrooms and Sam watches him turn the corner, debating if he should follow. He meets Cas's eyes and his heart breaks just a little more as he sees the anguish and pain and _love _in them. There's no mistaking it.

"He'll be okay," Sam tries to comfort Cas.

"Will he?" Cas says so quietly that Sam almost misses it.

Sam gulps, his own beer now laying forgotten. For once, he doesn't have an answer.

**~o~**

"Dean."

Cas's lips are hot against Dean's jaw, muttering his name as Dean runs a palm over Cas's taut abdomen, moving lower to undo his pants.

"Dean."

Cas's breaths are warm, moist, and Dean's fingers slip into his boxers. Cas's hands wander down Dean's back, down to his butt. Dean grits his teeth and traces his fingers lower down.

"Dean."

"C-Cas."

The heat increases. Dean's sweating, feeling Cas's hardness and moving fingers up—

Cas's teeth nip at Dean's ear and Dean freezes. "Cas," he grunts, "fuck, oh, Cas— _oh God… oh…_"

OH.

Dean sits bolt upright, the dream dissolving into nothing, his dick pulsating and blood rushing up his face when he sees the tent in his boxers. He's got morning wood and he's got it hard and… _God_.

He hates mornings. He hates waking up and he hates that he's barely functional unless there's a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. He hates being grumpy and angry and Cas calls him a bear — how dare he — but mornings just suck. And who the fuck is a morning person anyway? Probably Sam, the weirdo that he is.

Morning wood though? Dean doesn't hate it all that much because… well, it's not like he hasn't had this happen before. Hell, any other day and he'd be treating himself to some good old hand-to-gland combat. Not now, though. Not when this dream was about… about _Cas_.

Dean thinks maybe he should just stay in his room for the rest of eternity and never face Cas ever again. Never _everever_ again. He never wants to even think about it. About those rough hands feeling every inch of his skin, those soft lips brushing against his, those striking blue eyes—

_Nope. Think sad thoughts, think sad thoughts._

Mom.

Okay, not where Dean wanted his thoughts to wander. His mother is the last thing Dean wants to dwell on right now. Fuck, now he's sad _and_ he has a boner to boot. Why is his life like this?

Dean awkwardly swings his legs out of bed and walks over to the bathroom to deal with himself. It's quick and he absolutely does _not_ think of him and Cas entangled within each other, skin on skin, fucking each other's brains out. That's not what he thinks about when he comes with a cry.

It's when Dean goes to tuck himself back into his boxers that he notices that there's definitely something wrong with his dick. Apart from the fact that it's saluting people he isn't attracted to, that is. But on the shaft, near the glans there's… there's a… w_hat the fuck?_

It's an outline in black. How it came to be, Dean has no clue because if someone had doodled on his privates, Dean's pretty sure he'd know it was happening. His dick sure knew what was happening last night.

… Not the point.

Anyway. What _is_ this thing? Dean runs a thumb over it. Nope, not a pen or marker. It's like…

Dean's heart jumps into his throat.

Is that a tattoo? Is that a fucking tattoo on his _dick?_

Dean squints, heart racing. It's...a leaf? Cilantro. Why is there a tattoo of a single cilantro leaf on his...what the hell is happening?

He puts his boxers back on, and walks out of his bathroom to sit on his bed, his mind racing. Is this a curse? What kind of curse could do this to him? Is this someone's idea of a joke?

He's pretty sure Sam wouldn't do something like this as a prank. They have spent their lives in closed quarters but they have their boundaries.

Then again, Dean doesn't _feel_ any different. Well, there _is_ this itch… _down there_ and… _ugh_. He squirms, trying to adjust himself and wonders if he should mention this to Sam or Cas. The decision is made as soon as the thought crosses his mind. He doesn't even want to think of the looks on his brother and best friend's faces if he tells them he's somehow managed to acquire a penis tattoo.

Nope. Not happening. Dean is a hunter. He's dealt with worse things before, although maybe this one may rank a lot higher in his column of 'weird things hunters have to deal with.' He's been doing this job for two decades. He can figure this out on his own.

There's no point in trying to sleep again. He knows he couldn't have gotten more than a couple hours but seeing as he has more pressing issues to deal with, he sighs and gets to his feet and stretches before heading out the room and padding his way down to the bunker's library.

He falters as he spots a familiar trenchcoated nerdy dude sitting at one of the tables in the library, his back towards Dean. The same dude who's been all sexy in Dean's dream, which… gross.

Cas.

_Heavy breaths, limbs entangled, Dean eats up the wanton moan that escapes Cas's lips as his thrusts get quicker, harder._

Dean sucks in a sharp breath that turns into a hasty cough. The itch is back and Dean is just about to adjust himself again when Cas turns around, seemingly at the sound of Dean's cough. Immediately, Dean's hands stop halfway and he manages to make it look like he's rubbing at his chest. The itch grows stronger and Dean clenches his jaw in an effort to ignore it.

There's no way he's going to try to fix it with Cas looking at him the way he is.

Especially since the — and there's literally no other way to think about it — _sex dream_ still seems to be at the forefront, no matter how much Dean tries to ignore it. _God, say something_, Dean's mind urges him. Anything cool and unsexy and casual. Bro-type statement maybe.

_Hey bro, Cas, how you doin'?_

No, that's a pickup line from _Friends_.

"Dean?" Cas raises an eyebrow, and Dean almost chokes.

_Saysomethingsaysomethingsaysomething_

"C-Coffee?" Dean blurts finally, relieved he didn't say something stupid, and knowing he needs to escape the room before the itching drives him insane.

"Sure, thank you," Cas replies, smiling. Dean nods back and tries not to make it look like he's sprinting towards the kitchen. As he waits for the pot to fill, he sags in relief and one hand is down his pants because he doesn't fucking care right now and fuck, whoever did this, Dean is going to make sure they boil in their own piss.

Hopefully, Cas and Sam will never find out because this would be the ultimate blackmail material and Dean would drive his Impala off a cliff—

"Dude! Are you jacking off? _In the kitchen?_"

There's a shrill beep to match Sam's voice and Dean starts, hands out of his pants as he turns to Sam. Sam narrows his eyes, arms crossed. "What the hell, man," he says, "the kitchen of all places? You have your own room now!"

"Sam, it's not—"

"I mean, I put up with your crap all those years before we had the bunker," Sam rants on, ignoring Dean. His eyes are bloodshot, hair askew, and he's probably just woken up himself but that doesn't stop him from being an ass.

"Sam—" Dean begins again, and Sam puts a hand up to stop him.

"Go wash up," he says, "and maybe I won't tell Cas how you were just itching to be with him." The bastard has a half-smile now, a single dimple making its appearance.

Dean jumps, tries to look at the floor. "Wh-what?"

"Relax, dude, it was a joke," says Sam, waving at him offhandedly. Dean goes to the sink to wash his hands and further embarrass himself in front of his brother as Sam takes the coffee pot from off its stand, pours coffee into three mugs and hands two to Dean.

"I'm going back to my room," he says, "and don't do that again or I'll tell Cas."

"Fine, asshole," Dean says, rolling his eyes as he accepts the coffee. He heads back out towards the library and straight to where Cas is, putting the mug before him on the table.

"Thanks," Cas says softly and reaches for the mug. Dean lets his eyes linger on Cas as he blows at his coffee, pink lips making a small 'o.' Dean can't tear his eyes away from how Cas takes a careful sip of the coffee, warm liquid wetting his lips, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps it down. Cas's tongue comes out to lick at the side of his lips.

Dean's heart stops.

_What is happening? Why can't he look away?_

It's at that moment that Cas decides to look up, and Dean knows he's been caught like a deer in headlights. He scrambles to try and appear as if he wasn't just ogling his friend. He flips open the screen of his laptop (after having his fingers slip over the edge twice) and hastily makes to hold onto his coffee mug, almost spilling it all over his keyboard as his hands hit the body of the mug instead of the handle.

Jesus Christ, could things get any more awkward?

It's all right. Dean can handle this, it's just a small hiccup. He's just still in a minor sleep-filled haze, that's all. That's why he's being so clumsy. Also, his dick itches and Sam just threatened him, so there's that.

Dean pointedly avoids looking at Cas as his laptop boots up. Cas, bless him, does his own thing and doesn't demand Dean's attention, for which Dean is immensely happy. He ignores his itchy dick and opens the browser, wondering if googling "what to do if you wake up with a cilantro leaf tattooed on your man bits" will even yield any answers.

It doesn't.

He's never going to mention this to anyone.

Ever.


	3. Thirstiel

**3\. Thirstiel**

Sam doesn't go back to his room like he'd told Dean he would. Instead he makes his way back to Jack's room. He can hear coughing just as he approaches it and he picks up the pace, coffee sloshing about in the mug. When he reaches the room Jack's bent over and coughing into a Kleenex, face red.

Sam sets his mug on the table and rushes to Jack's side, putting a hand to his back. "Hey," he whispers as Jack continues to hack, "relax."

Jack tries and Sam can see that he does, but the coughs don't seem to want to stop. Sam rubs Jack's back and sits on the bed next to him, wishing he could do more, wishing he could take Jack's pain away.

It takes a good minute for Jack to stop coughing and when he does the tissue in his hand is damp with the red of blood, a string of thick blood hanging off his lips as he looks up at Sam, eyes distraught.

Sam sighs, pulls out more tissues from the box next to him. He pushes back Jack's damp hair and goes about cleaning his face, heart racing a mile a minute. "It's going to be all right," he says, not sure if he even believes it himself. "I'm here. Cas is here."

Jack nods, eyes bloodshot, and Sam runs a hand through the kid's hair once again. "Water?" he asks him.

Jack shakes his head, face paling at the mention of drinking anything, and Sam sighs. "It's okay," he repeats. "Just relax, all right? Come on." He starts to adjust Jack's pillows and Jack complies, quiet and child-like, and Sam just gets angrier and angrier at Dean as he soothes the kid into fitful sleep.

**~o~**

Dean's had to deal with many awkward silences in his life but damn, if this one isn't the worst. Him and Cas in this library, and he doesn't even know what brought this on. Did Cas somehow read Dean's mind and get to know about his sex dream? Can Cas read minds? Dean doesn't think so. He didn't accidentally pray during the dream, did he, because really, that's all they need right now.

How the fuck does Cas know what Dean dreams about?

No, wait, that time when he'd inserted himself into Dean's dream. That was so long ago. Cas isn't gross that way, though. Definitely not a damn rapist, and the dude may lack an understanding of the concept of personal space, but he knows about consent.

That dream was Dean's and Dean's alone.

The awkward silence stretches on and Dean can't take it any longer, so he decides to ask Cas the first question he can think of. "Can't sleep?"

"I don't sleep, Dean."

"Right." Dean wants to slam his head into a wall with the way this conversation is going. More importantly, his crotch is starting to itch again and all he can do right now is keep shifting in his seat in an effort to get comfortable without making it too obvious.

Cas is sitting right next to him and—

Dean feels his eyebrows furrow when he catches Cas staring at the bookshelf opposite him. It's not the staring that bewilders Dean, though. It's the fact that Cas is also shifting around quite a bit on his seat, lips pulled into a grimace and his facial muscles contorted in mild distress. Dean's eyes involuntarily wander towards Cas's legs and lock onto the space in between them.

It takes a whole minute until Dean registers that he's literally eyeballing his friend's junk through his pants and when Dean looks up, Cas is looking at him, equally shocked.

_Fuck. The boner is coming back._

"Be right back," Dean croaks as he gets to his feet and hurries towards the nearest bathroom. He turns on the tap and splashes cold water onto his face, breathing heavily as he looks at himself in the mirror above the sink, half-hard and already tenting again. God, what is this?

It's not that Cas isn't attractive. Dean's always thought Cas is moderately good looking, but in a bro way. Like a bro. Not… not like _that_. Although today for some reason, all Dean can think about when he looks at Cas right now is the shape of those lips and how they'd feel on his own. Those strong arms and thick, muscular legs wound around Dean's waist as they scream out each other's names…

"Okay, what the fuck," Dean remarks out loud to himself.

Willing his nerves to calm down, Dean splashes his face one more time for good measure before wiping away the wetness and heading back towards the library. Seriously, Dean can't keep doing this. He can't keep… _cleaning his rifle_ every time he thinks of Cas. It's not possible for him to not think of Cas because dude literally lives with them and Dean can't just…

Ah, fuck it, he'll just go sit in the library and see what happens.

He doesn't miss the way Cas's eyes follow him as he sits back down at the table. He also notices how Cas's eyes linger just a second longer on the stray wet drops of water on his t-shirt, on his face. Cas licks his lips, and Dean's heart pounds.

Is Cas feeling… all this too?

"Dean."

Dean blinks up at Cas, eyes fluttering a little.

"Hmm?"

"I was with Jack earlier."

It's as if all the awkwardness and abashment is sucked out from the room and is replaced by a sinister chill. Dean grits his teeth, feels the fumes of anger rise in him. He ignores the ever-growing itch in his pants as his brain is now dominated by thoughts of his mother's murderer. He doesn't want to blow up at Cas. Not now. But every time Jack's name is mentioned, all Dean can picture is his mom. Dead. Gone again, and forever this time. Hell, if Jack hadn't tried to bring her back, they wouldn't even have had a body.

That's what eats at Dean, and that's what convinces him that Jack is a danger to everyone around him, and it frustrates him that Cas and Sam can't see it.

"I see," Dean finally responds as he shuts his laptop, knowing there's no way to escape this conversation. He's run from it long enough, might as well just get it over with. Maybe Cas will see his point of view if he tries hard enough.

"He's already starting to get worse."

The concern and worry in Cas's voice only serves to infuriate Dean more. Why the fuck they worry so much about that… _Nephilim_, he doesn't know. He sighs. "Is that really a bad thing?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."

"Pretend all you want. Do you even know who took his grace?"

"No."

"Then it's obvious, isn't it? It could take days, but it could also take weeks or even months just to track down his grace. I doubt he has that long and we can't exactly do what we did last time to save him."

"And so what?" It's Sam who says it, not Cas, and Dean looks up just in time to watch Sam enter the library. Dean knows his brother is perceptive and isn't surprised when Sam seems wary and on guard. His eyes flit to Dean, slightly widened, nostrils flaring. He's pissed.

Cas, in the meantime, is staring at Dean from his own place at the table, mouth opening and shutting a couple of times. "What are you implying?" he asks.

Any other day, Dean would be intimidated by the sudden drop in Cas's already low voice but at this moment, he couldn't care less. "I'm being realistic," he says. "There's a real chance he could die so maybe we should just... be ready."

Cas narrows his eyes, gets to his feet slowly, steadily. "Really, Dean? I can't believe you. We've discussed this over and over and over again. You really want him dead? You think you'd be happy with him gone?" Cas is breathing hard as he leans over the table, fury flaming in his eyes. Part of Dean, the dumb part, dimly notices how well Cas's suit fits him.

Damn, what he'd do to get his hands under those clothes.

He catches himself off guard and his silence makes Cas smile humourlessly, interpreting Dean's lack of an answer for a lack of retort on Dean's side. "Exactly what I thought," Cas says. "I understand that you're grieving and that you're pissed. But wanting your own son dead is low, even for you."

Dean shoots to his feet as well, leaning over mere inches away from Cas. His eyes linger on pink, snarling lips and for a moment Dean wonders what it would be like to feel them on his body, biting and nipping as they fuck angrily. Would it even match up to—_goddammit, what the fuck is he thinking of in the middle of this clusterfuck?_

He clears his throat, tries to match Cas's anger and not be hard again. "He's dangerous," Dean says to him. "He's dangerous, Cas, and you know it." He tries to shift his eyes away from Cas's lips to his eyes.

It doesn't do much to help. Dean wonders why he never noticed how inherently beautiful and expressive Cas's eyes were. That stunning, sparkling blue, so bright and—

"He is a child!"

Cas's voice cuts right through Dean's fantasies.

Ah, fuck it.

Dean holds his own. "He is soulless," he says. "He's not the Jack we've known and I can't fucking understand why you two can't see that."

"That's enough," Sam cuts through them, moving forward towards them to intervene. But maybe this is good, so Dean won't get another boner while he's yelling at Cas.

"Dean, we've been over this," Sam continues, "If you can't get on board then take a walk. Cas and I are going to help Jack, whether you like it or not. If that means we have to go through you, we'll do that too."

Dean gapes, stunned at his brother's words. This bitch. It's like he didn't lose Mom at all, and after everything they've been through? Why would he do this?

"Sam," he says, trying to reason with his brother again, "you know what you were like soulless. You're seriously telling me you're on Cas's side here?"

"When I was soulless, you never gave up on me! Why is Jack any different?"

Dean clenches his jaw. "Because this situation is different. Because you're my brother and he is not. Because he has no control over his powers."

"This situation is not different. He is your _son. _And for the record, he wishes he'd never lost control."

"What?" Dean asks, taken aback.

"He told me that he regrets it. He knows he can't take it back and he wishes he'd never lost control. He blames himself, you know. You may have given up on him, Dean, but I haven't. So either get your shit together and help, or stay out of our way."

**~o~**

Sam doesn't bother to stay for Dean's reaction. He turns on his heels and walks back the way he came, deciding to head back to Jack's room. It's the only place where he can find peace from his anxiety, and though Jack is sick and it kills Sam to see him like this, taking care of him is all that Sam has in his control. In his hands. It's the only thing he can do to help. So he walks deeper into the bunker, listening to Cas's voice slowly fade away, deciding that he no longer wants a part in this crappy argument.

As selfish as Sam feels, he'd rather Cas deal with Dean for a bit because with Mom gone and Jack dying again, Sam isn't sure he won't end up with a damn panic attack if he has to argue any further with Dean. He's tired of it anyway. Of saying the same shit, of listening to the same crappy reason that Dean gives — and Sam gets it, it's their Mom, yeah, _he knows_, and it's not like he misses her any less than Dean does, but. _Fuck._

Sam enters Jack's room hoping to find the kid still asleep the way he'd left him a while ago. But he's a little disappointed to see Jack sitting up in bed, arms wrapped around his middle, looking like he's been through hell, blood smeared on his lips. Sam hadn't heard him cough but he rushes to the kid's side anyway.

"Jack?" Sam grabs a bunch of tissues and gets to cleaning Jack's face, heart racing a mile a minute. He's already so bad, so bad, oh God what are they even going to do?

Jack lets Sam clean his face, eyes shut. Sam finishes fussing over Jack and steps back to throw the Kleenex into the bin, only to see Jack smiling wanly at him. "You didn't sleep," he says.

"_You_ were sleeping when I left," says Sam, going over to sit next to Jack. "What happened? You need anything?"

"No," Jack shifts and winces. "I heard Dean and Cas arguing. Are they all right?"

"They'll be fine," Sam answers, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Is that what woke you up?"

"Yeah… kinda. I think I want to go back to sleep. I'm tired."

"Sure, Jack," says Sam. "Do you want me to leave, or—?"

"No," Jack whispers, then clears his throat. "You can stay if you want to."

Sam smiles. He knows he won't be comfortable sleeping at Jack's bedside again but he's all right with doing it if it will make Jack feel better. He helps Jack lie back down, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, and Jack blinks up slowly at Sam, clearly already sleepy again. Sam reaches forward to turn the light off. "Good night, Jack."

His finger is at the switch when Jack calls out to him. "Sam?"

"What's up?" Sam turns around, and Jack looks hesitant, a little uncomfortable, but he speaks anyway.

"Cas came in, you know. Earlier. Before you did. He was acting kind of weird."

"Weird how?"

Jack narrows his eyes, as though he's trying to recount exactly how Cas had been. "I don't know," he says, "he looked like he couldn't sit in one place. He kept squirming. Like someone – s–something was making him uncomfortable." He looks away, blinking swiftly, and Sam knows.

"Hey," he says, "It's not because of you, if that's what you're thinking. Cas isn't uncomfortable around you, all right? I know that for a fact."

"Okay," Jack whispers, and rolls over, while Sam flips the light switch off and listens to Jack's breaths even out as he falls asleep in minutes, thinking of what Jack just said. Kid has a point. Something's wrong with Cas, and for that matter, Dean too. Sam hadn't missed how cagey they were being through that argument. Dean had kept blanking out and staring at Cas every few seconds. He'd stared at Cas's chest and licked his lips at one point which… _what_?

Sam's not an idiot. He's seen Dean lick his lips at Cas before like the horny moron that he is, probably thinking it was a perfectly platonic thing to do or something, but this was different. As for Cas, like Jack said, he'd been squirming and shifting his weight on his feet like he had to pee, and Sam would have believed that one had he not known that angels don't pee. Also… Cas had been staring at Dean's crotch. Now, Cas is a little more accepting and up-front about how he feels about Dean, though Dean might have missed heaps and heaps of hints from Cas, but then again, Cas isn't one to stare at crotches.

What _is_ going on here?

A knock on the door jolts Sam out of his thoughts. Jack stirs, muttering, and Sam bends over, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," he whispers, "you sleep. I'll get that." Jack hums, curls into his blankets some more, and Sam pats Jack's shoulder before getting to his feet to open the door.

He's surprised to see Dean standing outside. For a second he wonders if his brother finally had some sense knocked into him and foolishly enough, Sam even hopes for it. But that is until he registers Dean's appearance.

His brother stands ashen faced, haggard and sickly, with sweat running down his temples. A hand is splayed out on the wall next to Jack's room. He's breathing unevenly and his eyes are glazed, eyelids fluttering.

"Dean?" Sam whispers. "You all right?"

"Peachy," says Dean, and his voice shakes, his body trembling. "Is he asleep?" he asks, nodding at Jack, words slurring together.

Sam steps out onto the landing, Jack's door still open behind him. "Yeah," he says. "He just went to sleep. What's up?"

"N-Nothing, I—" Sam's gut clenches as Dean's eyes roll upwards, his body swaying back as he falters. Instinctively, Sam's hands reach forward to grab at his brother's arms.

"Dude, seriously, you okay?" he asks.

Dean nods, gulping. "I-I'm fine."

Sam snorts, arms still outstretched, ready to hold on to Dean and manhandle him back into his room. "Really," he says, "you're _fine_. Are you as fine as Ross from _Friends_, or—"

"Sammy, I'm all right. I'm — _fuck_," Dean sways dangerously again, this time towards Sam who immediately holds onto Dean, his knees buckling slightly as he struggles to hold onto the sudden, almost dead weight. Dean might be short but he's fucking heavy.

"Dean!" Sam calls out, shaking him. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"Shut up, m-man, I'm—" Dean stumbles away from Sam's grip, face losing more colour. He squirms, panting a little, and Sam is seriously worried now, but Dean reaches a hand out and Sam clutches onto Dean's wrist to keep him from falling.

"S-Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam replies as calmly as he can as he moves to help Dean, but Dean pushes him away and stands back against the wall, eyes wide.

"Sam, I—"

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asks, taking another step, but Dean doesn't let Sam touch him. He shakes his head, eyes wide.

"Cas is hot!" Dean blurts out loudly, screaming it into the corridors of the bunker, into Sam's ear and probably all of America, right before he trails down the wall in a dead faint.

**~o~**

The first thing that penetrates through the fog in Dean's brain is his name being uttered by a familiar voice. It sounds distant, muffled, vaguely distorted, even, and he isn't sure who's calling out to him but… but he knows…

Ugh. His head! Fucking hurts! The pounding is incessant and he's either going to puke or pass out again and why the fuck is this happening to him?! God, and where is he? Is he being held captive by some monster—? He has no idea. An involuntary moan of pain escapes him as he tries to open his eyes. It's too fucking bright.

"Sam," says a deep, gravelly voice that Dean recognizes as Cas's. Oh yeah. That was the familiar voice. Cas. Where is Sam? Probably right here since Cas is not yelling.

The haze in Dean's mind slowly starts to dissipate and he registers Cas's voice again. "Sam, I think he's waking up."

"Dim the lights," Sam says, his voice low and Dean feels a rush of affection for his brother. He isn't surprised that Sam read his discomfort perfectly. Sam's always been that way.

There's a hand on his shoulder. It's Sam. Dean leans into it, and lets his brother comfort him for a moment.

"Dean?" Sam whispers, hand squeezing Dean's shoulder lightly. "You up?"

"Hmm," Dean manages. The mattress to the left of him dips down slightly.

Mattress?

Oh, he's on a bed. He remembers entering Jack's room, and—

He's on Jack's bed? Not cool, no, he doesn't want to be here at all.

God, and his head _hurts_. Although it seems slightly more bearable than the unbearable hammering just a few seconds ago. He doesn't understand why, but hey, he'll take it. He tries to open his eyes a second time, squinting warily as he cracks his eyelids open, sighing in relief that the room is in semi-darkness. Sam is sitting to Dean's left on the bed while Cas hovers behind Sam, both wearing identical expressions of concern. To Dean's right is Jack, who is half up from bed and staring at Dean, and Dean just doesn't want to see his fucking face right now so he turns away.

"You scared the crap out of me," Sam says, voice strained. Dean doesn't miss the hint of obvious relief in his tone.

"Sorry," Dean mutters as he shakily tries to sit up. Immediately both Sam and Cas move to try and help, only for Sam to throw out a hand with an alarmed shout as Cas stumbles, swaying, his eyes shut tight, eyebrows furrowed in what is unmistakably pain. Sam barely manages to keep him from falling over.

"Fuck. Cas!" Dean's heart is racing a mile a minute. He reaches a hand out to Sam, trying to help him with Cas, but Sam waves him off and gestures for Dean to make space for Cas. Dean obeys, grunts, sits up all the way and makes space for Cas. "What the fuck just happened?" he asks Sam, but Sam's just as lost as he is.

Cas lets Sam manhandle him to the bed. "Sit," Sam says, stern, looking at Cas who surprisingly doesn't argue. He's sitting on Jack's bed, head in his hands, elbows rested in his thighs, and Dean can see the cogwheels whirring in Sam's head as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Okay, someone needs to explain what the fuck is going on," says Sam, looking at Dean and then Cas in turn. "I have not one, but three sick people in this bunker and so far, only Jack's sickness makes sense." He turns to Jack, nods at him. "You want me to take you to my room while I see what's up with these two? You need rest."

Dean watches from the corner of his eye as Jack shakes his head. "I'm fine," he says. "Do you need help?"

"No, no, I'll—" Sam rubs at his forehead. "Actually, I think I will take you to my room."

"Sam, I—"

Sam is already by Jack's side before he can protest. "Come on," he says, "I don't want you getting disturbed by these two."

Cas looks up from his hands and turns to Jack. "Sam is right, Jack, you should sleep."

"But you and Dean—"

"We'll be fine," Cas says, and Dean narrows his eyes when he waves at Jack. "Good night."

"Good night, Cas," Jack responds. "Good night, Dean," he continues, and it's Cas's turn to narrow his eyes at Dean when Dean doesn't respond.

Well, tough. Dean isn't going to make this easy on them for supporting Jack. They can fuck off if they think he's going to forget everything that happened and kiss Jack goodnight or something. Thankfully, Sam takes Jack away a moment later and Cas sighs, putting his head back in his hands, so Dean's spared whatever lecture Cas was planning on delivering.

A few minutes later Sam comes back in. "Jack's in bed," he says, and Dean rolls his eyes. He knows Sam doesn't miss that, or the way Dean clenches his jaw at Jack's name, but neither decide to address it. Cas chooses that moment to let out a small moan. He would have gotten away with it but Dean knows that there's no winning with Mother Hen Samzilla.

"Cas, are you okay?" Sam asks, then rolls his eyes in disbelief at Cas's nod. Dean can't help but smirk in amusement as Sam stares him down with his you're-so-full-of-shit look and Cas slowly crumbles.

Dean pointedly decides to ignore how adorable Cas looks when he physically hunches over, almost trying to curl into himself under Sam's stern glare like a mischievous kid, and it's kinda cute—

No. Wait. Since when did he think Cas was adorable? He must have hit his head hard when he passed out.

"I don't know what happened just now," Cas answers finally, sighing, "But, there have been other... things…" He trails off and his eyes meet with Dean's, who immediately averts his gaze as all the gears click into place.

Suddenly Dean just _knows_ he's not the only person in this room sitting with a cilantro leaf tattooed onto his dick.

Cas coughs, and makes a bad job of trying to divert the topic. "I – I feel better now," he says, "and I think I can heal Dean too." Before Dean knows what's happening Cas scoots over closer to him, hand raised, and there is a jolt, a tingle of anticipation in nerves.

"_No!_" Dean ducks away, goosebumps all over his body. "Don't touch me!"

Sam blinks at them. "What?"

Cas turns to Sam, equally confused. "What?"

They both turn to Dean as if he has all the fucking theories about how and why this is happening, and Dean shrugs. "_What?_"

Sam shakes his head. "What just happened? You don't want Cas to heal you?"

"He's – he's makin' me dizzy," Dean grumbles, then shifts over to Jack's side. He wants to lie down.

"You mean his healing makes you dizzy?"

"No. I…" Dean sighs, shakes his head. He doesn't know what to say to his brother, or how to say it. Cas is suddenly hot and cute and sexy and Dean's… Dean's horny. He can't possibly explain this to Sam. And Cas? He almost passed out too and what he said to Sam just now about the "other things"…

Dean looks back up at Castiel, wide-eyed, and when Cas gives an imperceptible nod, Dean's heart drops. He's definitely not the only one being affected by this curse, or whatever it is.

Sam washes a hand down his face. "What are you two on about? Anyone gonna explain that to me?" He's seen the silent exchange between Castiel and himself, Dean thinks. He stays silent.

"Cas," Sam prompts, his voice bordering on impatience. "What other things did you just talk about? Is there something you two are not telling me?" When Cas doesn't open his mouth, Sam rounds on Dean.

"Why did you say what you said before you passed out?"

Dean opens his mouth, shuts it. Honestly, that moment is a little blurry to him. "What did I say?" he asks Sam.

"Cas is hot."

"Yeah, I get that, Sammy, you have a crush on Cas—"

"No," Sam interrupts him, "that's what _you_ said. You screamed it out."

"Cas is hot?"

"Cas is hot. I think people heard it all the way up in Canada."

That is when Dean's memories come flooding back. He'd been so fucking horny for Cas he thought he was going to die, and he didn't know what to say to Sam, how to explain it. He groans out loud, wanting nothing more than to dig his own grave and lie in it for the rest of eternity.

He wishes he could take that all back, or better still, die immediately and never have to explain any of this. Cas is hot. Why would he say that out loud? And as if that's not enough—_someone kill me now_—Dean _still_ thinks he's hot. He has to really work to not stare at Cas, at the light stubble that adorns his face, at the way he brings his tongue out to lick at his lips nervously and all Dean can think about is how they'd feel against his own—

Okay, no, this is getting out of control.

Sam seems tired when he turns back to Cas. "Do you feel the same way?" he asks. "Do you think Dean is hot too?"

Cas stays silent at Sam's question and then sends Dean a pleading look, who immediately recoils. "Hey!" he exclaims. "Don't look at me. He asked you!"

"Okay, enough. I'm asking the both of you. What the _fuck_ is going on?"

Dean clenches his jaw in frustration, hiding his face in his hands.

"Why did you say that Cas is hot?" Sam questions again after a moment of silence, and Dean sighs.

"I-It... I don't... fuck," Dean stammers. He chances a look at Cas and immediately looks away as Cas is staring at him, mouth hanging open. A light blush is blossoming on his cheeks, as if it hadn't hit him until everyone in the room had confirmed a dozen times, the exact words that Dean had said before he fainted. Dean is a little happy about it too, though. That he's the reason Castiel is flustered. Why should he be embarrassed alone?

Cas rubs at his pink cheeks and it's fucking cute and Dean wants to kill himself the moment he thinks of it. He doesn't understand any of this. It doesn't make sense. Just a day ago, they were fine. He's never felt this way about Cas before.

Right?

He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't think Cas was attractive because, okay, Dean can admit that. Cas _is _attractive. But Dean's not attracted _to _him. They're just friends. Pals. Chums. Bros. Period.

So where are all of these thoughts coming from?

"Dean, talk to me, man," Sam coaxes, concern lacing his tone as he sits next to Dean on the bed. "What is going on? I'm not going to laugh, okay? Just tell me now."

For the first time since he's woken up, Dean looks, actually studies Sam's face and despite the differences and the numerous arguments surrounding their fucked up life right now, Dean's heart breaks seeing the absolute _exhaustion_ that he knows Sam's trying so hard to hide. Dean wonders if Sam's ever gotten a full night of sleep considering the dark bags that adorn the underside of his eyes.

He doesn't think he should delay this any further. It's embarrassing, but at least Cas is going through the same shit as him. He takes a deep breath. "I don't know, Sam. I... when I said that, it's like I couldn't control it."

"Why did you pass out?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't know. It felt like I had the worst case of the flu. My head got heavy, everything was spinning, it was hard to breathe."

"Cas?" Sam turns to their friend. "Be honest with me."

"My symptoms don't seem to be as severe at the moment but it is quite similar to what Dean is describing."

"So, like I said, do you find Dean hot as well?" Sam is smiling a little now, a dimple comes up and Dean rolls his eyes. Let him enjoy this moment, he thinks, Dean will have his revenge when he's a little less worried about how tired Sam is.

"Yes, Sam, you and Dean are both beautiful, I believe it's called winning the genetic lottery and having all the conventional features of being hot. So yes, by that definition, Dean is hot. His lips are plump and shaped perfectly, his face is symmetrical, his voice is the right timbre and tone to cause anybody to have sexual feelings for him, as for his _eyes_—"

"Okay, Thirstiel," says Sam, chuckling, "thanks for that. I have my answer. You find Dean hot."

If not for the bizarreness of the situation, and the fact that Dean feels like death warmed over, Dean would have laughed at the dumbstruck expression on Cas's face. He splutters unintelligibly, highly unlike his usual demeanour before he mumbles out an almost inaudible 'yes' while turning scarlet.

Before any more questions can be put forth however, the bastard is on his feet. "Excuse me. I want to go check on Jack," he says, and practically sprints out of the room. Dean watches him go, then turns back to Sam. Time to let the cat out of the bag.

"There's… more," he says. The last thing he wants to do is talk about it but at this point, his dignity has been chucked out the window anyway.

Sam raises his eyebrows at Dean's statement, waiting.

"You can't laugh," Dean warns him.

Sam frowns. "I won't?" Dean hates that it sounds more like a question than anything else but he can't blame Sam. In his defense, Dean's not really giving him anything to go on.

"I…ihaveadicktattoo," Dean spits out.

"You have a what? Didn't catch that."

Dean wants to rip his own hair out. Why him? Why this?

"I woke up today, hard as hell. I had a sex dream about Cas which doesn't make any sense. I've spent all damn morning being horny for the guy for no apparent reason and I have a single fucking cilantro leaf tattooed onto my dick that I definitely don't remember getting out of my own volition. There, I said it. Don't fucking ask me to say it again," Dean snarls out, avoiding any and all eye contact with his brother.

"That's... um... well... too much information... I'm... I'll be right back," Sam stammers out before hurrying out the door.

**~o~**

Cas is sitting quietly by Jack's side when he hears soft footsteps from behind him. He turns as the door opens a little and Sam's standing there. He gestures for Cas to come out and Cas stays there a moment before preparing himself once again for all the embarrassment. When he goes out Sam isn't smiling or amused, though, and Cas assumes Dean has told him what's going on.

"So," says Sam. "I'm not going to laugh, okay, but are you having the same… _thing_ as Dean?"

Thing. It can hardly be described as a _thing_. Cas was getting erections out of nowhere today, a normal thing for human teenage boys and maybe some grown men, but certainly not for angels. He's been thinking of Dean all day, more than he usually does, in a more sexual way than he ever has. All he can think of is having sex with Dean, and all he can do is appreciate how handsome his horrible Father made Dean and that's not something Cas likes to do all the time. He doesn't think anybody would find it pleasant.

Oh, and Cas has a tattoo on his penis that he did not get.

"Cas," Sam coaxes him, "promise I won't laugh. Please just tell me."

Cas nods. "I have been having sexual thoughts about Dean," he says. Sam cringes slightly, but doesn't make a big deal out of it. "And…" Cas begins. reaching for his pants to show Sam the next part.

"And?"

Cas undoes his belt buckle and Sam takes a step back. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to show you the tattoo I have on my penis—"

"No," Sam interrupts him, "no. It's…" he coughs. "I don't need to see it."

"But how will you know—?"

"It's a cilantro?" Sam asks him.

"Yes, highly realistic art of one. A single leaf."

Sam gives him two thumbs up. "Got it. Enough to go on with."

"All right," says Cas. "Let me know if you want to see it, or see a picture."

"Nope," says Sam. "No dick pics either. We're good."

Cas has never understood why human beings are so bothered by nudity, but he shrugs. "All right, Sam. You can take Jack's room if you want to sleep. I'll be by his side through the night."

"Okay," says Sam. "Holler if you need something."

"Sure."

Sam turns away, horribly awkward, and Cas watches him leave, wondering if Dean has been having erections about him, too.

**~o~**

Sam yawns as he squints at the impossibly tiny font on the book in front of him. It's been a few days since Dean and Cas's revelation, and Sam's still trying to process it, if he's being honest with himself. It's the weirdest thing he's ever seen and downright the weirdest supernatural thing to ever happen to either of them.

It's been a bizarre couple of days watching over his brother and best friend along with caring for Jack. The first few hours had been funny, with Dean and Cas being embarrassingly horny for each other, but it's not so funny anymore, and though Sam doesn't want to admit it, he's barely hanging on by a thread. He's scared as shit for Dean and Cas, and he's scared as shit for Jack. He doesn't recall the last time he got a full night's sleep.

After Dean's fainting spell, things had gone downhill. It had been fine for most of the day until Dean had flat out cried out in pain while they'd been sitting in the library trying to figure out why Dean and Cas were suddenly horny for each other. It had scared the living daylights out of Sam to see Dean scrabble to move himself away from the desk, all the while clutching at his head. His cry of pain had been loud enough to carry towards Jack's room causing both Jack and Cas to hurry out to get to Dean, even if Jack can't really walk much without support.

Sam's heart breaks when he remembers how Jack had hung back while Cas had run up to Dean to check on him.

Two minutes into trying to get Dean to explain what was wrong, Cas had suddenly blanched and excused himself, only to come back fifteen minutes later looking ashen, eyes bloodshot, his breathing slightly laboured. Sam had later found out that Cas had spent that time painfully dry heaving in the bathroom, unable to puke because he doesn't eat.

It took another few hours to finally realize that the symptoms ranged from anywhere between classic flu-like signs that appeared and disappeared without any pattern, to random jabs of pain with no apparent cause. The only thing that seemed constant, and was slowly growing in severity was that both Dean and Cas were coughing like no one's business, both seemingly intent on hacking up a lung at some point in the near future.

"Hey," Sam's brought out of his reverie by Dean's croak. Sam grimaces in sympathy at how worn out Dean's voice sounds.

"Find anything?" Dean asks him, "because I didn't find shit in the archives."

"No. I'll keep looking though. We'll figure this out."

Dean hums as he sits opposite Sam, setting a bottle of beer in front of him that Sam hadn't noticed Dean holding. Dean motions silently with the beer towards Sam, who shakes his head in denial as he rubs absently at his forehead trying in vain to dissipate the ever-present headache. His thoughts are already spinning in circles, and he doesn't need beer to compound that.

There's silence for a while as Sam researches and Dean continues to drink his beer. Sam yawns, and has just turned another page in his book when Dean taps his empty beer bottle against the table, gaining Sam's attention. Sam frowns, looking up at his brother, and Dean coughs.

"It hurts less when he's close," he says. It looks like it took Dean a lot to come out and say that.

Sam keeps his voice as even as possible. "What do you mean?"

Dean hesitates for a bit, then speaks. "When… when I'm with Cas. I don't know why, but even though I feel like absolute shit, if he's close, it physically hurts less. It took me a while to figure it out but—" Dean shrugs. "I don't know, maybe it'll help in your research."

Sam thinks about it a little, and wonders if he's read about this before. He hasn't, but he smiles at Dean anyway. "Thanks for that. You holding up okay?"

Dean purses his lips and gives him a thumbs up but doesn't say anything further. He leans to the backrest of his chair and shuts his eyes, looking utterly tired and hopeless.

Sam knows Dean's doing his best here. Cas can barely walk without support, complaining of frequent dizzy spells. While Dean's tried his best to hide his own state from Sam, he's not exactly been successful in hiding his frequent headaches. Both Dean and Cas having been running low grade fevers that won't break no matter what Sam does, causing them to roam around the bunker shivering from the constant chill that seems to have set within their bones. Each of them has bags under their eyes, looking far too pale to be normal, and every time either of them has a coughing fit Sam feels helpless just being a bystander, knowing the only avenue he has is to be a silent comfort by their side as they struggle to breathe for a few minutes until the fit subsides.

Sam doesn't mind taking care of them. They're family. But at the moment, seeing as he's the only one not actually sick, he knows he's been running himself thin trying to look after Dean, Cas and also Jack, and he just wants this, _all_ of this, to stop.

He shakes his head, trying to dispel the constant stream of thoughts. He should concentrate on finding a way to break whatever spell has been cast upon Dean and Cas. They're nowhere near trying to figure out the location of Jack's grace, and while it eats at Sam, knowing they have a limited window until Jack starts to deteriorate severely, Dean and Cas are also his priority.

He doesn't know what to do, he doesn't fucking know what to do, fuck, fuck_fuck_—

His breaths speed up, a panic attack coming on, and Sam clutches at the table, feels the wood underneath his palm, and looks at Dean. He can't lose himself right now. He needs to do this. For Dean. For Cas. For Jack.

His breaths slow down, and the calm begins to set in. Sam gets a hold on himself, then watches Dean open his eyes again, groaning as he squirms in his chair, annoyed and uncomfortable. He looks like death warmed over and so does Cas, and whatever this curse is, is making them horny for each other, with a bad case of itchy willy.

Okay, that _is_ funny. Dean can't expect Sam to be completely objective here. If the situations were reversed, Dean would have wasted no opportunity in humiliating and ridiculing Sam for the same predicament. In fact, Sam thinks he's being quite the gentleman, tolerant, minimal on the teasing, all things considered, so he lets himself chuckle just a little, under his breath.

"Hilarious," Dean mocks, sticking out his tongue at Sam.

"Oh, come on. It's a little funny."

"Let's see you deal with it and then laugh about it," Dean grumbles as he squirms again, shifting in his chair. Sam barely controls another chuckle.

"Hey," he says, "it's not my fault the Cilantro Gods decided to brand you and Cas, and not me or Jack." He notices the way Dean's expression clouds for a second at the mention of Jack, but it's gone the next second, replaced by frustration.

"Sam, I swear to God—"

"The Cilantro Gods?"

"Sam!"

It's at that moment that Cas decides to walk in and immediately, it's as if Dean forgets Sam is there. Sam observes as Dean gulps audibly, hands fisting against the armrests of the wooden chair, looking seemingly unable to tear his gaze away from Cas. On the other hand Cas tries to look at everything _except _Dean. He walks past Dean, opting to sit at the head of the table, facing both of them.

"How's he doing?" Sam asks and ignores how Dean rolls his eyes at Jack's mention, even if it's not by name. Once Dean gets over his itchy willy, Sam's going to set him the fuck straight.

Cas sighs, wincing. "Jack's okay as can be, given the circumstances. He seems to be holding up better today. He sat at his desk reading for a while."

It's the small victories, no matter how temporary, that Sam clings onto. Sam nods a silent thanks while Dean looks like he's more interested in the label of the beer bottle than anything else. He looks like he's either itching for another beer or Cas—which, he actually is—that was a great pun right there and Dean completely ignored it the last time, and Sam's gonna get him for that too. He's going to get Dean's beer-drinking ass and—

It hits Sam like a freight train.

How had he not figured it out? How could he have been so oblivious?

Fuck!

"Dean!" Sam's standing up from his chair, practically racing to his brother and Dean stands up too, alarmed but Sam skids to a halt, grabbing Dean's empty beer bottle from his hands.

"Dude, what the—?"

"The beer!" Sam practically yells, immediately guilty when Dean jerks in his seat, hand immediately flying up to his temples, forehead scrunched in pain.

"The fuck, man?!" Dean exclaims, fingers massaging the sides of his head in circular motions.

"You two drank the beer that wasn't part of the six pack," Sam says, feeling like he's finally done something right for the first time in days.

"What?" Dean asks before he starts coughing. He clears his throat once the cough subsides, looking at Sam. "So what? What does that have to do with…" He trails off his eyes going wide.

Cas, who'd spent the last couple of minutes staring at his own hands, immediately snaps his head up, finally meeting eyes with Dean, his own eyes widened in shock and understanding. "That clerk, Matt, he was new," he says, his voice hoarser than usual. He grimaces as he weakly tries to clear his throat. "It has to be him."

"You're saying he laced our drinks? The free beer he gave us." Dean looks at Sam.

Sam nods. "It seems like the only possible cause. I drank the beer too, but mine was from the six pack."

"Son of a bitch, I'm gonna—" Dean's snarl is cut off abruptly as yet another coughing fit takes over. Sam waits, heart racing, for the fit to pass but it doesn't, and the next moment Cas is hacking too, bent over double, his hand shaking as he holds onto the table for support.

"Sammy, something's wrong," Dean gasps out before toppling off of his chair onto the floor. Sam cries out, only just stops Dean from face planting onto the floor as he catches him, one arm around his chest.

"S-Sam…" it's Cas this time and Sam's barely situated Dean on the floor when he has to run to catch Cas, who promptly slumps out of his chair and falls onto Sam, his face turning redder by the minute, unable to take a breath.

They continue coughing like they can't breathe, struggling, gasping for life. For the first time in forever, Sam feels helpless as he kneels next to his brother and best friend, frozen as they writhe in pain and anguish.

It's when the gagging starts that Sam's heart drops.

Dean shakily and unsteadily lurches to all fours, starting to retch violently. He claws at his throat, and with a pang of fear Sam realizes he's choking as Dean's lips slowly start to turn blue. Sam thumps Dean's back hard, trying to manoeuvre himself into a position where he can perform the Heimlich.

He's barely gotten to his feet when Dean retches loudly again, this time an alarming amount of scarlet liquid rushing out of his mouth and all over Sam's boots. Sam spots a single cilantro leaf in the mess and he realises that Dean had been choking on it.

Dean barely avoids the puke as falls to the floor in a heap, heaving deep breaths, his eyelids fluttering shut. Sam's on his knees near his brother because Dean's lost blood and he needs to check his pulse, but then he hears Cas start to hurl behind him. He scrambles to his feet, alarmed, and he's only barely able to avoid the large volume of blood that Cas throws up, along with an identical single cilantro leaf.

"I can't see," Cas whispers, as he slumps sideways onto the floor, his eyes rolling inside their sockets, unable to fix onto a certain point.

"Sammy, I can't see, either," Dean echoes, hands scrabbling aimlessly around him, as if searching for something to hold onto, and Sam can't help him, can't respond. _They're blind, _he realizes, horrorstruck, and he can't sit here, watch them struggle anymore without doing anything about it.

Sam gets to his feet, his hands flying to his hair. He's trembling all over.

He's watching his family die.

He can't.

Fuckfuck_fuck._

They can't die. Not like this, not after they've just lost Mary. He can't lose anyone else.

Only one thought cements itself to his mind. The guy at the store. He's responsible for this. It's the only thing that makes sense, like Cas said. Sam doesn't know if going to him will fix any of this but he has to try.

"I'll fix this," he says out loud. It goes against every fibre of his being to leave Dean and Cas in this state. But he has to fix this. He has to save them. "I'll be back soon, okay, you both hang in there."

He doesn't look back as he hurries towards the war room, picking up the emergency duffel that they keep, filled with an assortment of weapons, before hurrying out the door. His boots squelch with each step, his feet soaked in his own brother's blood, but that's the least of his worries. He's not going to let them die.

Not like this.

**~o~**

The pain is immense, it's something Dean's never felt before. His head pounds a beat alongside his heart, his throat on fire and he feels blood trickle down his mouth in a steady, thin stream. His eyes are open but all he sees is darkness.

He doesn't want to freak out, but he values his eyesight a lot. He knows Sam's disappeared because he heard Sam saying something but he couldn't make out what. He did hear the bunker door slam shut though, so he thinks maybe, just maybe Sam can fix this, can make the pain stop.

He lets out a strangled moan as his stomach twists within itself. It feels like he's being stabbed. He doesn't want to throw up any more blood. He's so tired, so cold, so thirsty, and all he wants is for this pain to end.

"Cas," he calls out, reaching for his only source of comfort within the room.

"Dean." He hears a pant just to his right.

Dean doesn't know why he does what he does next, but all he knows is that being close to Cas lessens the pain, and right now every nerve ending within his body seems to be on fire.

He just wants the pain to stop.

His hands pat aimlessly along the floor, splashing once or twice in the blood he just brought up. It takes a few seconds but he finally latches onto what he hopes is Cas's arm.

The agony coursing through him is still nearing unbearable but as soon as he makes contact with Cas's skin, hand gripping Cas's, he automatically intertwines their fingers and the pain dulls.

It still hurts like hell, and it still seems to be getting worse, but it's slightly dampened.

He feels callused hands reach out blindly towards his face. "Dean," he hears Cas moan brokenly, distress lacing every bit of his tone. The next minute, Dean feels soft lips on his, and for a second, just a second, he freezes.

The physical torment lessens even more and this is it. It's heavenly and awesome and Dean wants more of it. Maybe it's the days of barely sleeping, barely keeping his own dick in check every time Cas walks into the room. Maybe it's the fact that he's literally dreamt of doing this multiple nights in a row.

Or maybe, just maybe he should let himself go this one time. Maybe he shouldn't fight this, maybe this is what's right.

Dean responds to Cas and kisses him back.

He's blind, he's probably about to die, but even though he's in agony right now, it's like bliss. Their lips taste of blood, desperately crashing against each other, Dean running his tongue hungrily over the sides of Cas's mouth, taking in more and more of him.

If he has to die, honestly kissing Cas isn't the worst way to go.

Cas's lips feel even softer than he'd expected, and his hands that are clutching tightly at Dean's hips in a tight grip, tongue responding to Dean's and sending waves of pleasure through Dean that he's definitely never felt before.

Dean's hands move of their own accord, feeling blindly for Cas's shirt buttons. He finds them, rips them open, his hands splaying themselves onto Cas's chest, and Dean feels Cas shiver. The filthy moan that escapes Cas hits Dean just right and suddenly, he wants to hear it more.

He feels Cas's hands slip under his own shirt, fingernails raking across his chest and Dean can't help the sounds that escape him while Cas kisses along Dean's jawline, going lower and lower. They're on the floor, down on the dirty blood that covers it, and they don't care. Cas grabs Dean's collar and they kiss again, biting, nipping, and Dean is so hard right now, fuck. He wraps his legs around Cas's hips, hands entangling in his hair and Cas pulls them both up so they're sitting, Dean's legs still wrapped around him.

"F-Fuck, Cas," Dean whispers, "fuck me."

"Not yet," Cas mutters, and he's a fucking tease right now and Dean can't believe it but—

Dean bites his lip when Cas thrusts against him. He's barely able to put himself together and Cas thrusts again, getting Dean to moan.

Dean gasps, mouth hanging open as Cas continues to grind against him, and they need to strip fully, Dean needs Cas in him right now, right now—

Cas thrusts again and Dean almost shouts his name out. Dean's nerve endings are on fire, sparking, smoking, destroyed completely by Cas. He doesn't care—he wants Cas so bad. This is the best he's felt in his life and he can go on like this forever and ever—

It all goes as suddenly as it came. The constant throbs of pain and anguish suddenly disappear, leaving Dean disoriented, the black in his vision fading so quickly that he has to shield his eyes from the amount of light that assaults his retinas.

It's at that point when Dean is entangled with Cas the two of them tenting, sweating and tired, that Dean realises what they just did.

Oh, fuck.

**~o~**

The bell atop the doorway rings as Sam steps into the grocery store, his duffel slung over one shoulder. The first thing he notices is that apart from the man sitting behind the counter, there are no customers. That's a good sign, it might make things easier.

Sam walks up to the counter and plasters a smile on his face. "Hi, I'm looking for Matt? I was told he works here."

"He know you?" asks the dark-haired man.

"I'm a friend."

"He's not in, called in sick. Maybe try another day?"

Dammit, Sam thinks. His gaze wanders the length of the shop, trying desperately to figure out a way to maybe get Matt's address when his eyes land on a circular mirror at the far corner of the store.

His own reflection stares back at him but that's not what sends Sam's heart into a frenzy. In place of the reflection of the cashier, is a pale humanoid figure with hollows for eyes and a mouth fused with stretches of rotted skin.

_Siren_, his brain tells him and he's just opened his duffel when the creature hops over the counter and kicks out hard at Sam's torso. Sam falls back on the frozen food, cans and cans of the stuff falling on him as he tries to shield his head from the impact.

"You shouldn't have come," snarls the siren, his human face twisting into a sinister smile. "My, oh my, I should give you more credit. I didn't think you'd figure it out this quickly."

"You laced those beers," Sam grunts as he violently shoves off the cans. He knows how to save Dean and Cas now, he just hopes he's not too late.

"Correctomundo," says Matt, as he slowly advances on Sam. "We're more powerful now, you know. Michael really beefed up our powers. In my earlier days I couldn't have done what I did to your brother and the angel, and this wouldn't work if they hadn't already been mad horny about each other. I hope you saw my signature. Cilantro is a symbol of lust, but my, oh my, coming back to you, your mind is a mess. How are you even living right now?"

Sam grits his teeth. Sirens can read minds, he'd forgotten. "We both know neither of us are going to let the other walk out of here alive," Sam taunts, ignoring the jibe from Matt. "You're stalling. Scared of a Winchester, are you?"

The siren chuckles. "Oh, you sweet summer child. I like to play with my food."

Before Sam can blink, he's pulled up by the collar of his shirt and slammed into the now empty shelving unit behind him. "It's all part of the... _pleasure_," he whispers, voice sultry as he licks a line up Sam's neck, grasping Sam's hand. Sam tries to free his other hand from under the shelf, knowing that he has mere seconds before he puts himself at risk of being under the siren's control but when that doesn't work he slams his head into Matt's, who stumbles backwards as he lets go. Sam quickly frees himself the next minute and runs towards the inner section of the store, snatching his duffel off the floor as he pushes over stands and shelves into the path of the siren who's in pursuit.

Sam pulls out a handgun from the duffel and fires off two shots directly at Matt's torso. It doesn't do much but slows him down slightly. Sam dives behind one of the upended shelves and fires blindly in the direction of the siren with one hand, using the other to rummage through the duffel for a bronze dagger. At the same time he's toeing off his shoes.

If Dean were here right now, he'd be laughing at Sam, but this is all he's got. His hand finally closes around the hilt of the dagger and he's just run the blade across the damp underside of his sock, soaked in Dean's blood when the hand holding the gun is twisted harshly, making the gun fall out of his grip.

Sam's involuntary cry of pain is cut off when a hand closes itself around his throat, lifting him off the ground. He's steadily losing air, his vision starting to swim as his feet scrabble in vain for purchase.

"You're smart, Sammy, but I'm not the only one," Matt whispers as he throws Sam into the freezers that house all the beer and cold drinks. Glass rains down upon Sam as he wheezes, out of breath.

"How's Jack doing?" asks the siren, sneering.

Dread fills Sam as he looks at Matt, who laughs at Sam. "I didn't take his grace, just so you know. But I know who did and it's one of us," he sings.

Something about that statement ignites a fire within Sam. He roars as he gets to his feet and runs full pelt into Matt, using his body's momentum to tackle him to the ground.

Sam wastes no time in plunging the dagger coated with Dean's blood into Matt's torso. The siren howls in pain and Sam feels no remorse as he twists the dagger, feeling a sense of thrill as Matt writhes underneath him.

"Who has his grace?" Sam snarls, seeing red.

Blood tinges the corners of Matt's mouth as lets out a weak laugh. "Fuck yourself, Winchester."

Sam pulls out the knife and plunges it deep into Matt's left thigh and twists it once more. "I won't ask again." Sam holds on tightly as Matt thrashes underneath him, breathing heavily. He twists the dagger even deeper.

All Matt does is laugh wetly.

It's at that moment Sam knows Matt will never divulge anything, and that he can't keep Matt alive, because a siren's spell will only break once it's dead.

If he leaves Matt alive, Dean and Cas die.

It's a horrible choice to make, but he can't save Jack without Dean and Cas. Sam yanks the knife out of the meat of Matt's thigh and finally stabs it directly into his heart. Matt immediately goes still, a ghostly smile still etched onto his face while lifeless eyes stare up at the ceiling.

Sam lets go of the body and gets to his feet, limps to his duffel to repack it. He hurries over to the windows of the store and shuts the blinds, locking the entrance and changing the open sign to closed. He then makes his way out the back door. He'll take of Matt's body later. Right now, his only priority is heading back home to make sure Dean and Cas are alive.

His hands tremble as he clutches the steering wheel of the Impala for dear life, speeding through the mostly empty streets, towards the off roads that lead to the bunker.

Jack's still sick and they still don't know where to find his grace, but they're one step ahead. Sam now knows it's a siren that's taken Jack's grace. It's not much to go on, but it's more than they've had before. He'll take it. He'll take what he can get.

He's not going to let Jack die, he's not going to lose anyone, not anymore.

**~o~**

Dean clumsily untangles himself from Cas, but their hands stay intertwined. He's unsure of how to react. He just made out with Cas and that's the only thought running through his mind, and he doesn't know what to fucking do.

They both lay on the floor, staring at one another until Dean decides to make the first move. He shakily gets to his feet and pulls Cas up along with him. He lets go of Cas's hand but it's more so because he realizes they're covered in blood, rather than out of embarrassment.

Cas's trenchcoat along with his blazer is still on but the white undershirt is open, revealing toned abs. Dean's eyes linger just a second longer than they should until he quickly averts his gaze before Cas can notice. Fucking siren spell is still not gone.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks Cas, breaking the awkward silence between them.

Cas nods. "I don't feel sick anymore."

"Neither do I."

"Good," Cas says, and then shuffles from one foot to another. He then gestures at the blood on the floor, and to themselves. "We should probably clean up."

Dean nods, his mind still trying to process what's happened to them. If Cas doesn't want to talk about it at the moment then so be it, he'll follow his lead.

As they bring in cleaning supplies and start to mop up the floor, Dean hopes for two things. One, that Sam's okay (the fucker isn't picking up his phone and Dean's tried like eighteen times) and two, that they can figure out whatever this is between Cas and himself without Dean losing him.


	4. Torn

**4\. Torn**

Sam takes a look in the mirror, at his own pale face as he washes his hands. There's dried siren blood on them — it's nasty, and he couldn't get all of it off before rushing home to make sure Dean and Cas were alive.

It had been scary for a bit, seeing as Dean and Cas had lost quite a bit of blood. Cas wasn't affected as much, being an angel, apart from feeling slightly weakened. Dean on the other hand had gone into shock and it had taken a while for Sam to realize the symptoms. It's only when Dean had begun to shake and hyperventilate, looking way too pale and clammy for Sam's liking, that Sam had realized what was going on. Cas had been able to heal him but it had still frightened Sam.

He watches the soap suds wash out in the sink, rusty brown and ominous. They belong to the siren and not one of them, he reminds himself – and his heart, which is going a mile a minute.

Sure, it had all been hilarious at first with the tattoos, and… and whatever it was that Dean was doing the whole time, but they'd both gone blind and had been dying just because they couldn't admit to each other that they were in love, and here Sam was, bearing the brunt of it all by having to carry the trauma of it on his shoulders, and as if that was not enough, being worried about losing them.

Of course, they won't get it. Especially Dean. Dean will probably _never_ fucking get it and this is probably how life is going to be from now on.

Sam feels a lump in his throat and he isn't sure why. This was all hilarious and they are ridiculously used to dying, to being close to dying. Hell, Sam died last week. They don't need to worry. He doesn't need to worry at all.

Dean and Cas. They're idiots, idiots, _idiots_. Sam doesn't know if they managed to traumatise Jack too, but he needs to get to it because Jack might look twenty, but he's a toddler, so the number of fucking responsibilities that Sam has in this house right now is just ridiculous because his brother and best friend can't fucking pull it together.

He's not sure why this is all twinging at his heart and making him emotional.

They're okay.

Sam reaches for the hand towel and starts to wipe his hands. No more blood, just some scratches. Scratches of his own, which can be managed. They barely twinge. Dean and Cas are okay. They're good.

The sink is still dirty from all the blood that Sam had cleaned off, but he'll get back to this later. First — he swallows at the tightness in his throat — first he needs to get to Jack.

Because Jack might have witnessed whatever it was that Dean and Cas were doing before Sam left, and not because Jack is dying. No.

Right.

He takes a deep breath. He feels like his whole body is trembling a little bit as he makes his way to Jack's room. Must be the adrenaline crash. Jack's room — yes, it's here, and he's approaching it, legs shaking a little — he swallows the lump in his throat again. He should maybe go lie down once he sees how Jack is doing.

The door to Jack's room is ajar by a fraction so Sam takes a peek, and finds him sleeping soundly, blankets wrapped tight around him. His drawn-out face is pressed to his pillow, no pain visible on it, breathing even. The whole thing, the whole scene should make Sam feel better, really, but it doesn't.

Jack is dying and they're still not close to getting his grace back.

Sam clears his throat. He doesn't know why. He feels like he needs to clear it. Something is stuck—he's—he needs to get to his room.

He's hurrying through the corridor, back to his room, and the whole world seems to be spinning, whirling uncontrollably. He feels disconnected from it all. From his son, his brother, and his best friend, all dying or almost dying or whatever is going on right now, and he's not sure what's happening anymore, just that he needs to get to his room, he needs to get—

"Sammy?"

It's Dean.

God, Dean's the last person who needs to see Sam like this right now because fuck, he'll know right away and he'll try to find the reason for it, and that's not what he needs to do at this moment. No one deserves to be weighed down by whatever crap Sam's stupid head seems to cook up all the time because it's exhausting, and it must be awful, because it's just so hard.

"Sammy."

Dean is closer now, voice stronger. Sam finds his bedroom. He's in there, pushing the door shut (he can just close the world off for a while—just forget, maybe, and it might go back to being okay and Jack won't die), but he's stopped. There's a hand. A firm hand, and the door is pulled back. Dean's there, standing at the threshold, frowning like he has figured it out and God, Sam hopes he hasn't, because he doesn't want to explain at all.

He's so, so, so tired.

Dean seems to notice. He raises an eyebrow. "You all right?" he asks. He sounds careful. Like he's not sure what will happen if he asks the same question a little less casually.

Sam manages a smile. "Yeah," he says, but it feels like someone else saying it for him. Like he's watching himself say it, but is not present for it. Which is weird, because he's right here. Dean's right here. He thinks.

How long are they going to be here?

He vaguely hears another pair of footsteps that are steadily growing closer. "Dean?" a voice calls from the end of the hallway. It's Cas. Dean looks in his direction for a minute, but doesn't say anything because he turns his attention back to Sam.

"Sam," he says, "you wanna go grab dinner?" He's still being cautious, the frown never leaving his face. "Jack's out for the count," he adds, "but I think you know that. Come on. You and me and Cas — we'll make it quick. I could do with a burger and a couple of beers." Dean tries to chuckle but he's talking too much and Sam thinks he knows.

Cas approaches them and looks from Dean to Sam, standing there and observing the situation but not saying a single word. Sam takes a breath. He just. He doesn't know what he wants. Maybe he's not hungry, maybe he is. He's not sure. He looks back at his room.

He feels a mild tremor start in his fingers again. Dean and Cas are right here and they are fine. All right. Not like all the hunters whom Sam led to their death. Not like Mom.

Dean and Cas are here.

"You don't look well," Cas remarks. "Do you want to stay in while Dean and I bring food back?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," Sam whispers. Maybe it's over now. Maybe Dean and Cas will go away and Sam can lie down for a while and not think. Not think about anything at all.

"All right," says Cas. "Dean?"

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. Sam looks away, but not before Dean's eyes narrow. "I don't think we should leave him alone, Cas," he says.

Sam doesn't even try and express his indignance at being addressed in third person. He sighs. "I'm all right, Dean. You and Cas can go on." He doesn't meet eyes with Dean as he says it, focussing on the hallway light that's falling perfectly on Cas to make it look like he has a halo.

"Uh-hunh," Dean replies, "sure you are. Cas and I ain't going anywhere without you."

"Leave me alone," Sam mutters, turning away to shut his door, but Dean steps further into his room.

"Sammy," he begins, "listen. Cas and I are good. We were cured the moment you killed the siren. You don't need to worry or—"

"I know," Sam snaps at him. "I know you're all right. I know Cas is all right, okay? You think I didn't make damned sure that you two would come out of this alive? You think I wasn't aware, the whole time I was fighting the siren, that you and Cas could die?" His throat is so tight, it feels like he's choking. His eyes burn. He doesn't know why. He doesn't know what's working him up so much.

"Yeah, but we _didn't_ die," Dean tells him. "Sam, I know it can be hard, okay. I know it must have sucked, going there and taking on that siren without knowing what was gonna happen to me or Cas."

"No," replies Sam. "You don't know shit. You don't know _shit_."

"Sammy—"

"You want Jack dead," Sam hisses at him. Behind Dean, Cas looks uncomfortable, shifting in the too-bright light, and Sam wishes both Dean and Cas would just leave him the fuck alone, but he's so angry and so tired.

"Sam." Dean says, a warning in his voice, but Sam ignores him, ploughing on.

"Yeah, Jack made a mistake," he says, "and it might have been a big mistake, but instead of tackling it, you know just one way to do things, Dean, and that is to kill. Lucky for you, he's dying, and you don't give a fuck, but you also don't give a fuck that he's an actual _child_, or that Cas and I obviously still care about him."

There is silence. Sam looks directly at his brother, at Dean standing there with his mouth slightly open as though he can't believe what Sam just said to him. It just goes on to irritate Sam further. He didn't want to have this conversation right now. Dean seems to know that too, because for a moment he looks like he's going to back down. Like he's going to ignore Sam and walk away. Then he doesn't.

"It wasn't a mistake," Dean says, voice low. His eyes are emotionless when he matches gazes with Sam. "It wasn't a fucking mistake."

"You mean Jack _meant_ to murder her?" Sam snaps at him. "Is that what you're saying?"

"No one's saying anything," Dean replies. "I think you're right. I think Cas and I will go for dinner while you rest." He's about to leave, but there's a fire inside Sam. An itch to fight Dean for his fuckery.

"So you're just going to avoid this entire conversation?" he asks his brother, knowing he's pushing it, and honestly, he doesn't care anymore. "Are you going to ignore the fact that you're being an outright asshole because you know I'll call you out on your shit?"

"Call me out—?" Dean clenches his jaw. "You're calling it a _mistake_, and I'm the one in the wrong here?"

"Yes, because it _was_ a mistake."

"A _mistake_ that killed Mom!" Dean growls, taking a step forward. "It was murder, Sam, and so help me God, if you call it a fucking mistake again—"

"You'll decide that I'm not worth living either?" Sam asks him. "What are you going to do about it?"

For some reason, Dean seems to decide not to dignify that with an answer because he turns around, but Sam reaches out a hand, clutching at his shoulder, clenching Dean's flannel between his fingers as he holds him back.

"I will not lose Jack to this," he says. "You can do whatever the fuck you like, but I won't let you touch Jack. Cas and I will get his grace back for him whether you like it or not."

"_He fucking killed my mom!"_

Dean's voice thunders with anger as he whips about, pushing at Sam's shoulders. Sam's barely registered the fabric of his brother's shirt slip off his grip before he's stumbling back, throwing his arm back to catch himself against the wall. For a moment Sam doesn't know how to react at all but the next second he's collecting himself, anger coming back fourfold.

He charges forward and pushes Dean back in retaliation. It seems childish but Sam doesn't care. Dean trips back as Sam bares his teeth at him and shoves again.

"Sam!" Cas seems to jump to life from his silence behind Dean but Sam ignores him and takes a step forward towards Dean, towering over him.

"I know he killed Mom," he breathes, voice starting to shake with fury and something else.

"Sam." Cas's hand is on his shoulder, but Sam pulls away from him, focussing on getting his point across to Dean. Dean doesn't retaliate, eyes less defiant as they look into Sam's, and Sam continues through the pain in his heart.

"I've already lost my mom, Dean," he says, just about managing not to choke on the words. "I'm not fucking willing to lose any more." His throat is so tight he can't breathe, and every bit of him is exhausted.

"I will not fucking lose anyone else so get the fuck out of here, okay?" he continues, eyes burning, "Get the fuck out and leave me the fuck alone!" His voice breaks from the strain and he takes a step back. His vision blurs.

Something seems to change around him at that very moment. Something about how Dean is looking at him. Something about Cas's quiet watchfulness. There is utter silence around them, the dim lights of Sam's room contrasting against Dean's tired face.

Sam blinks through his tears and looks away at the auras cast by the lamps in the hallway. He doesn't want to face Dean or Cas. Doesn't want them to see him when he's so vulnerable.

"Sammy." Dean's voice is tender. Cas comes up to join Dean, the two of them standing there and _scrutinising_ Sam, and fuck, he wants to be alone. They both look equally tired, Sam realises. It's been an ordeal on them all — this whole thing, but he still wants them to go away.

Sam shakes his head and moves back so that he's leaning against the other wall. His legs are shaking, all strength drained out of him. "Just go," he whispers, a tear breaking lose. "Please."

"Sam." Dean looks worried now, lines on his face intensifying. He raises a hand and takes a step closer but Sam covers his face, shaking his head as more tears spill out.

"P-please." His voice is barely making it out of his throat and he's shaking all over and Jack is dying and Dean and Cas almost died and he is so not ready, so not ready—

"Hey, hey, take it easy." Dean is closer now and Sam doesn't have the strength to ask him to leave as his legs give away, sending him sliding down against the wall. The tears don't stop and his hands don't come off his face but he knows Dean and Cas are right there, flanking him, crouching down with him as they clutch on to each shoulder.

He can't talk, can barely think. All he can do is sit there and cry into his hands like a stupid child because he can't help anyone and all he does is get people killed and now Dean and Cas are just here, watching him do it like the idiot that he is.

A sob builds up somewhere deep inside his chest, letting itself out before he can do anything about it. Dean's grip on his shoulder tightens. "Sammy," he whispers, and Sam shakes his head, sobbing again, wanting to clutch at his hair and tear them out.

He doesn't know what to do with himself or any of this. He doesn't know how to be _him_ anymore. Everything is gone. He is so lost.

A sniffle. Another shaky sob. His breath hitches. Dean and Cas are there, as warm and as comforting as they can get, but it won't stop. The pain won't stop going through him like a tornado, breaking everything inside of him. He can't do anything except for be helpless and miserable the way he is right now, and even that won't heal the pain.

He doesn't know how to stop hurting and from the looks of it, Dean and Cas don't know how to stop him from hurting either. So they just sit there for hours against Sam's wall, and even though the tears let up Sam doesn't think the pain ever will. Sam is sure that Dean doesn't think so either. For the first time in their entire lives, Dean doesn't know how to help, and they're all just here, broken forever. Nothing will ever put them back together again. Nothing will ever put Sam back together again.

**~o~**

At some point Sam falls asleep sitting against the wall with Dean and Cas still next to him. When he wakes up he's lying down, head rested on a pillow with a warm blanket over him. It feels comfortable even though he's on the floor and can't remember falling asleep like this at all. Someone switched off all the lights in his room too. He can hear Dean's snores from beside him.

He waits for his vision to adjust to the darkness. His neck his stiff so he has to sit up straight to exercise his muscles for a moment after which he scans the room for Dean.

When he finds his brother what he sees makes him smile.

Dean is asleep against the opposite wall, head on Cas's shoulder and a patch of his drool evident on Cas's trenchcoat, their hands sitting close together, as if they'd been holding them all night. Cas seemed to have scooted to Dean's side somewhere in the middle of the night and though Sam knows Cas doesn't sleep, his eyes are shut and he's breathing peacefully, as though he's in meditation.

Sam looks away from them, yawns, and squints at his bedside clock, at the neon numbers on it that indicate that it's five in the morning. He yawns again, bringing up a hand to cover his mouth. He slept a good six hours. He should go check on Jack and see how he's doing.

Sam gets to his feet and his movement seems to shake Cas out of whatever reverie he was in, because he finally opens his eyes. He looks at Sam and is about to say something — probably ask how Sam's doing, but Sam puts a finger to his mouth and gestures at Dean who's still sound asleep on Cas's shoulder. He nods at Cas immediately after to assure him that he's doing okay. That he's better since last night, which, to be honest was frankly awful and embarrassing.

Yeah, Sam's going to try and forget about the clusterfuck that was last night. New day, time to move on. Time to check on Jack. Everything else can wait.

That's how Sam finds himself at Jack's bedside fifteen minutes later, holding a mug of coffee and watching over his child. Jack's asleep too, and he looks small inside the mountain of blankets that he's enshrouded in. Sam sips at his coffee and watches on.

**~o~**

"You look tired."

Sam startles, putting down his newspaper when he hears Jack's sleepy, hoarse voice. He had been staring at an advertisement for shaving cream, and he's not sure how long he'd been zoned out doing that. He runs a hand through his hair and smiles at Jack, who's pushing the bedcovers off himself.

"Good morning, Jack," he says, noticing that Jack's trying to get out of bed. "Need any help?"

"Just the bathroom," Jack grunts, sliding his socked feet into slippers before he gets off bed. He washes a hand down his face and starts to walk towards the bathroom. Sam follows, knowing full well that this will annoy Jack, but also needing to be around in case he needs help. Jack doesn't retaliate, though. He just gets into the nearest bathroom and shuts the door without rolling his eyes or sighing at Sam and Sam waits outside, waits for Jack to wash his hands before chaperoning him back to his room.

"I'm not that weak, you know," Jack says as they walk together down the hallway. "Even the last time this thing took a while to get bad."

Sam doesn't want to think about the last time. "I know," he says. "I'm just being careful."

"I get it," Jack replies as he takes off his slippers and gets back into bed, settling himself against the wall, pulling his blankets around him again. "You still shouldn't worry so much."

Sam scoffs out a laugh, and lies. "I won't."

There is silence. Jack seems to have caught his lie because he's staring at Sam, eyes unblinking, and Sam feels discomfort creep up his neck as he looks away. He doesn't want Jack to know what happened last night. Doesn't want him to figure out how fucked up Sam is — how fucked up they all are right now. Jack already has too much on his plate, and he doesn't need to know this too.

Jack finally breaks his silence by clearing his throat. "So," he says, "did you think about it?"

Sam scrunches his eyebrows together and blinks. "Think about what?"

"About what Mia Vallens told me last year. I told you about it."

Therapy. Oh yeah. Jack was talking about going to therapy. Seems like Sam can't really lie to him after all, even though he's not sure how Jack figured it out.

Sam takes in a sharp breath and shrugs. "What makes you think I need therapy?" He doesn't tell Jack that Winchesters don't do therapy, even though Sam's been thinking that maybe they've all been fucked up beyond measure for a while now.

Jack takes a while to answer Sam's question. "You're not happy," he says. He's looking directly at Sam, as if he knows everything.

Sam doesn't meet gazes with him. He clears his throat and shrugs. "Guess it's just everything that's going on—"

"Things have been going on too long," Jack says, interrupting him. "I have been told that it is all right to talk it out to a professional sometimes, and seek help."

"By whom?" Sam scoffs. "Mia Vallens?"

"Yes."

There's a beat of silence as Sam looks up at his child, sitting there pale and thin and dying and in too much pain for someone so young. Jack folds the blankets around himself tighter and the sheets rustle, crinkling as they wrap around his thin frame as Sam processes everything that he just said.

He swallows. "Jack?"

"Yes, Sam."

"Do you — do you need help?"

Jack waits for a moment, then shakes his head. "No. Soulless people don't grieve."

"I don't think you're emotionless," Sam tells him.

"Dean thinks so."

"Forget what Dean thinks. Do you need help?"

Jack shrugs, leaning his head against the wall. "I don't know," he says. "Is there anything wrong in needing it?"

"No."

"Then why won't you accept it?"

Sam doesn't know what to say to that. He scratches at his stubble and presses his lips together, thinking about it. Jack's clock beeps briefly, telling them both that it's seven in the morning, and Sam takes a deep breath. "I guess…" he says, trailing off, then licking his lips, "I guess I never thought of it that way."

"Because Winchesters don't get therapy?"

Sam chuckles, looking up at Jack. "Who told you that?"

"It sounds like something Dean would say," Jack replies. "Dean associates weakness with needing help and talking, which I've come to understand, are not bad things."

"No, Jack, they're not bad things," Sam assures him. "At all."

"Why is Dean so insistent on destroying himself?"

Sam chuckles again, turning his gaze to a wall. Jack is perceptive and knows a lot but won't let on. Sam wonders how long ago Jack observed these things about him and Dean, and how much he's come to pick up and learn from their self-destructive habits. He hopes it's not much.

"Dean being the way he is," he says in reply to Jack, "that's just him, you know? I can't blame him. We were brought up to think that being tough was powering through some messed-up stuff, and I think maybe Dean still thinks that way."

"And you don't?"

"No."

"That's good," Jack says. "That means you'd get help if it was bad."

"Yes," Sam lies. "I would. And it's all right now, you know? All things considering." He's grateful Jack hadn't seen him last night. He's not sure what's stopping him from going to therapy but he doesn't want this to rub off on Jack. He wants Jack to be better than him or Dean or Cas. He wants Jack to have a better life.

_If he lives._

Sam swallows down a resurfacing lump in his throat. He doesn't know why he's been like this since last night but he feels destroyed — like everything in him is gone and nothing is left, and, as he swallows another lump in his throat he realises that he should probably think harder about what Jack just said. Maybe… maybe he does need help.

"Sam?"

Sam slips out of his thoughts to turn his focus to Jack who's still there right beside him, earnest gaze fixed on him. Sam feels bad about how he lied to Jack just now, but he swallows and nods and tries to smile. "Yes, Jack."

"Are Dean and Cas having sex?"

Sam almost falls of his chair but shuts his newspaper, throwing it aside and catching himself just in time. "W-what?"

Jack's innocence is adorable, almost hilarious, when he shrugs. "They were being weird yesterday. When you were gone. I went down to the kitchen for some water and—"

"What did you see?"

"They were – they were touching and kissing, and sort of…" Jack trails off.

"What Jack?"

"Does sex involve pelvic movements? Dean wouldn't tell me about sex the last time I asked him so I'm not sure."

Sam sputters, eyes widening. There's no way Dean and Cas had sex. Not that Sam has an issue with it. He realises he didn't really wonder what Dean and Cas did to keep themselves alive during the time that Sam had gone to find the siren, but he could have never imagined… _this_. Sam doesn't want to think about Jack watching Dean and Cas having sex. That's just a whole different level of wrong. Sam can't believe it. Those bastards, pretending like nothing happened at all. This was going to be emotional blackmail for a lifetime and Sam's never letting Dean get away.

Just for Jack's sake he hopes his kid has it all wrong, when he asks his next question. "Were they still wearing clothes?" _Please don't let them have been naked._

To Sam's utter relief, Jack nods. "Yes. And thrusting with their pelvis."

Sam closes his eyes for a second, disbelief coursing through him. Those two bastards grinded up on each other. Even more blackmail material, Sam thinks.

He finds himself inadvertently smiling. "Thanks, Jack."

"Why?"

Sam gets up, the chair dragging itself against the floor as he pushes it back. "You'll know."

"Will I?"

"Probably not. Tea?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll be back in a minute."

Sam leaves the room still grinning and elated to have ammunition on Dean. He needs to tuck away this information for any future wars that he and Dean might have. He also needs to think about going to a therapist but he'll do that in a while. First he's got to revel in the fact that his moron of a brother and idiot of a best friend finally, finally did something about their ridiculous feelings for each other.

Maybe it's not all that bad after all.

**~o~**

Dean wakes up with his head rested against Cas's shoulder and the side of his mouth wet and sticky. Ugh, he thinks, he's been drooling in his sleep. He never drools. This is embarrassing.

_Ugh_.

"Dean?"

Cas's gravelly, rumbling voice shakes some sense into Dean. He immediately pulls away, rubbing at his cheek as he turns to Cas.

"Hey, Cas," he says, voice hoarse from disuse. He licks his lip and sits straight as last night comes back to him… and after that, the rest of yesterday.

Dean and Cas had steered clear of the topic on account of Dean being in shock… and then having to take care of Sam, but it all happened, and Dean remembers it clear as day, just like, and he's sure, Cas remembers it too.

Oh God, what had he and Cas done when Sam had been trying to kill the siren? What did Cas think of it? And did Sam know? Did Jack see? Dean wouldn't know because they were blind as bats at the time but the fuck kind of curse was that anyway? Hopefully Jack was sick enough to stay in his room so he didn't have to see that.

As if Dean cares about traumatising him anyway. He's a monster.

A kid.

_No._

Dean sighs as he lays his head back against the wall. As long as his dick doesn't itch and he doesn't feel like fucking Cas at the weirdest of moments anymore, he thinks he is good to go. Though he's not happy with the kind of ammunition he inadvertently provided Sam with over the last few days.

The rest of last night's incidents come back to Dean one-by-one. The argument with Sam. Sam's breakdown. Dean and Cas getting him to sleep after he calmed down… which took a long time. They might not be cursed anymore but Dean thinks things got worse in many ways and he wonders how they're going to fix this. He knew Sam wasn't doing well as revealed to him by his brother himself, but somehow he hadn't expected it to be this bad. Him and Sam, they didn't reach their breaking points so easily anymore because they'd been through too much shit in the last few years to react like this.

Which means it's worse for Sam than it has been in a while.

"Dean."

Cas's hand is on his arm and for the first time in a while Dean doesn't feel like he's been jolted by electricity. It gives him relief as he turns to Cas.

"You sleep well?" Dean asks his friend. Somehow the fact that he slept on Cas's shoulder embarrasses him lesser than it should.

"Angels don't sleep," Cas reminds him, "but I was in a trance of sorts. Possibly equivalent to your sleeping."

"Do you feel well-rested?" Dean asks him.

"Yes, very much."

"Awesome. Any idea when Sammy woke up?"

"Yes," Cas replies, "it's been around two hours. He got up and left and I didn't want to stop him. He needs his space."

Dean is glad Cas remembers what he'd told him about Sam a few months ago. He moves and makes to get up, stiff muscles protesting as he exercises his neck. Then he gets to his feet, stretching as he does so, and watches Cas stand up beside him. However Cas puts his hand on Dean's arm again and Dean turns to him. "What's up?"

"Dean…" Cas hesitates, "we should…talk."

Dean stiffens. He'd be lying if he said he didn't expect it, but part of him wishes Cas would just let it be.

_Cas against him, lips meeting._

"Talk about what?" he chances, hoping Cas won't call his bluff.

"You know what."

_Thrusting, kissing, moaning Cas's name._

Damn it, he's not that lucky. Dean sighs. "Cas, there's nothing to talk about," Dean says, looking towards Cas.

"Dean, what happened between us—"

"What happened between us was because of the stupid siren curse. You're my friend, Cas, I don't want things to get weird between us because of this," Dean cuts Cas off, because this is just too awkward now.

For a fleeting second, Dean thinks he sees hurt within Cas's eyes and frowns but it's gone the next moment and Dean wonders if he's imagined it.

"Okay," Cas says, looking away. There's brief silence, it's awkward, and Dean hates it.

_Tenting his boxers. Feeling Cas's boner against his stomach. He'd wanted it so bad._

Dean clears his throat, hoping that will clear his head too. "I need coffee," he says, stretching his back muscles with a grunt. "You?"

Cas takes a moment to compose himself. "I would like that, too," he says finally. He adjusts his trenchcoat, seemingly not minding the patch of drool on it. Dean looks away, eyes Sam's abandoned pillow and pile of blankets on the floor, and mutters to himself about Sam's messiness as he grabs them and returns them to Sam's bed. Together, he and Cas leave the room for the kitchen, in search of their coffees.

When they get there they find Sam sitting at the table and nursing a cup of his own. He looks like he's deep in thought as he browses through the newspaper, and Dean watches his brother for a moment before announcing himself.

"'Morning, asshole," he says to his brother.

The newspaper rustles as Sam puts it down. Cas makes a beeline for the coffee machine and Dean follows him, waiting for Sam's response. To his surprise, however, Sam doesn't retort. He just flashes Dean a half-smile. "Did you sleep well?" he asks him.

"Yeah," Dean replies. "You?"

"I slept fine," Sam tells him. "I might have not cuddled with my boyfriend while I did it, but it was fine."

A dimple appears. Dean rolls his eyes. There it is.

Cas hands Dean the coffee pot and Dean fills his mug before he goes to join Sam and Cas at the table. "Cas is not my boyfriend," he says.

"You keep telling yourself that," Sam replies. "Doesn't erase the fact that you made out with him."

Cas promptly chokes into his coffee and Dean, who thankfully hadn't started to drink his yet, feels his eyes widen as he looks at Sam.

"Who told you that?"

"Jack saw you," Sam replies, calmly drinking more of his coffee. "I was with him until he slept again a while ago. You two made a child watch all that." The dimple deepens and Sam's full-on grinning now. "Shame on you."

"We were _blind!_"

Cas sputters into his coffee some more and Sam puts a large hand to his back, starting to thump it. "Easy, Cas," he says, while looking at Dean in the same breath, a glint of mischief in his eye.

"Your blindness doesn't seem to have stopped you," he says, "and last night you weren't blind anymore when you were cuddling with him."

"We weren't _cuddling_, we—" Dean stops there, shaking his head. "You know what?" he says. "Not going to explain this stuff to you."

"Thank God," Sam replies, rolling his eyes. He takes his hand off Cas's back and Cas, who's stopped coughing, is looking anywhere but at Dean or Sam. "I don't need more nauseating shit from you guys," says Sam. "The last few days was bad enough. So if you gotta confess something to each other this is the right time."

Dean clenches his jaw, wishing he could get back at his brother (which he absolutely will), but he realises they have more pressing matters at hand. Like Jack's grace. And last night.

_Last night._

He sighs, feels Sam stiffen on the other side of the table, as if he knows what Dean is thinking. Dean collects himself for it. He knows that just like him, Sam's way too used to the tough love that they were both brought up with. To hold on tight until it all passes, and pretend nothing ever happened. But the way it's been for the last few months… the last few years, Dean wonders if they should have done things differently.

If he should talk to Sam about doing things differently.

Honestly, he doesn't know how much Sam will be willing to talk about everything that happened yesterday but he thinks it's worth a try. He knows that Sam might not be very receptive to the idea, should Dean suggest it. Hell, he might not even believe that Dean is the one suggesting it. Maybe he should ask Cas about it. Dean doesn't know.

All he knows is that he can't fix things for Sam this time. Nothing that they usually do can fix things for Sam. Except getting some real help. He hopes Sam won't push him away and he hopes they can find a solution to this.

Dean absently takes another sip of his coffee. The bunker kitchen has been doused in silence for the last few minutes, ever since Cas stopped coughing. Sam is holding his own coffee mug between two large hands and sitting back, elbows rested on the table, eyes focussed on something on the floor. Dean palms the warmth of his own mug, basks in it for a moment, then finally gathers the courage to speak.

"Sam."

Sam looks up, eyes questioning. Dean clears his throat. "How are you doing?"

Sam scoffs. "Is that a question? I'm fine. I mean, I slept well, I was with Jack for a while and maybe after a bit we can start looking for his grace—"

"No," Dean interrupts him, "how are you really doing?"

"Fine," Sam lies again, unblinking. He used to be a good liar once. He's not anymore.

Dean runs his hand through his hair. "You wanna talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about?" Sam gets up, grabs his coffee mug and starts to walk over to the sink. Dean almost follows him but decides to stay. To wait.

He licks his lip. He can see Cas eyeing them both cautiously. Cas, who is giving them their space and has said nothing on the matter.

Dean shrugs. "You know it's not wrong, right? That I might be an asshole about it, but… you know. I don't think it's wrong."

Sam freezes in the middle of washing his mug, just stays there to stare at the sink and the tap still running, water gushing over an already-clean mug. Dean gets up from his place and walks to his brother. He leans against the counter, crossing his arms against his chest. "You know what I'm talking about," he says.

"No." Sam's voice is cautious. The water continues to gush. At some point, Dean reaches over to turn the tap off and plunge them back into silence. Sam stands there, still frozen, and Dean gathers himself to say it.

"Sam," he says, "do you think you need therapy?"

There is a long pause. Dean doesn't know what Sam's thinking. He watches Cas from the corner of his eye. Watches him finish his coffee, awkward, and unsure how to help. When Dean finally catches his eye, Cas looks worried, but willing to contribute in any way that he can to helping Sam and Dean. Dean gestures for him to come over and he does, and Dean lets a hand slip into Cas's — just for the reassurance, the warmth, as he prepares himself to speak further to Sam.

Sam hasn't moved at all since the last time he spoke, and he doesn't move when Dean speaks again. "Tell me," he says, "do you need therapy?"

Cas squeezes his hand and Dean swallows, continuing to speak. "I know I make it sound like we gotta be tough in our family but Sammy, if you need heed help, if you need to talk to someone—"

Sam suddenly moves, abruptly takes a step towards Dean, and Dean squeezes Cas's hand tighter, hoping for his brother to take his suggestion. Sam seems indignant. His nostrils flare and his hair is askew, eyes a little mad.

"Why do you think I need therapy?" he asks Dean, slowly.

Dean swallows. "Man, last night—"

"I was overwhelmed," Sam almost snaps. "Maybe I was tired. I'm all right."

"I know," Dean replies, trying to remain calm about it all. "Man, you were the one who told me last year that this is how healthy people deal. I want you to be healthy. I don't care what it takes, okay?"

"You don't get to tell me that Winchesters don't get therapy and then talk like this," Sam retorts. His jaw clenches, unclenches, and he shakes his head. "No, Dean. You don't get to make me believe that shit for years, then get scared and think I'm crazy because of one incident."

Dean is about to reply but Cas lets go of his hand to take a step forward. "Sam," he says, "I believe your brother is right."

"Why?" Sam asks him, eyes narrowed. "Because of yesterday? Because you think you can't fix me?"

"It's got nothing to do with fixing you," says Cas. "You are not broken. You are, however, very affected by all that has been happening."

"And you and Dean?" asks Sam. "Are you both better off because you didn't slip for a few minutes?"

"This is not about us."

Sam clenches his jaw, takes a glance at Dean, and shakes his head. "I know," he says. "And that's why you don't get to decide these things."

He puts his mug down, ceramic clinking loudly against the kitchen countertop, curls his fists, and takes one last glance at Dean and Cas before storming out of the kitchen.

**~o~**

When Sam reaches his room he has to sit down for a while to block out the buzzing in his head. About everything that Dean said. Everything that Jack said. The thoughts swirl about, repeating themselves and getting louder and louder until it's all just a jumble, and he has to stop. He has to stop because it's getting to be too much.

They noticed. They know. Cas knows too. But of course they noticed. Last night wasn't subtle. Sam wishes it had been. That he had known to handle it better. That he had a better handle on his emotions. It's so embarrassing. And now… now they think he needs a therapist. That Jack thinks this way is probably less surprising than the fact that Dean does.

They think he needs a therapist. And deep down, Sam knows they're right.

He sits there for a while and stares at nothing. He lets his mind be blank because he likes it this way. He likes the nothing. Slowly, his eyes wander to the pillow and blankets on his bed, sitting there beside him in a pile. He'd just lugged them onto his bed and not bothered to fold them up before getting out of the room in the morning.

He'd slept on the floor of his own room. He'd not been all right last night.

He's not been all right for years.

He's not all right at this moment either.

Sam takes a deep breath. He blinks at his surroundings and makes a decision. Then, as quietly as he came here, as quietly as the morning began, he gets to his jacket, puts it on, and is out of the bunker in the next few minutes.

**~o~**

"How did you find me?"

Sam can hear the clock ticking, and his heart beating. The room is silent. Mia Vellens sits at her armchair, hands joined on her lap and fingers interlocked. Sam's there, facing her, trying to understand. He's not sure where he needs to go from here.

He blinks. It took so much for him to come here. Maybe he can answer her question first. Maybe things will get easier once he does that.

"It took work," he says. He had asked Bobby for help and it didn't actually take long, but right now asking Bobby for anything is work. He's not _their_ Bobby anymore.

"I changed my name," she replies, "and my face. I changed my entire identity."

He shrugs. "We have our ways. I'm not here to hunt you."

Mia's eyes soften. "I know." She takes a look at him, eyes fixed on his face for a moment too long, and Sam has to look away. He hates sympathy. He knows she's not being sympathetic—she's just trying to get a read on him before she starts, but he still has to look away. He doesn't know why.

"Sam," she says, voice soft, "how can I help you?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know," he whispers.

"Did you lose someone recently?"

She'd asked them the same thing last time, Sam thinks. It's all blurry now. Like it was from another world. That time too, it had been Mom. It's always been Mom because that's who they are. They were built out of losing their mother. Carved out of their grief for her. This was how it was always going to end.

"Who is it?" Mia prods at him. He struggles to remember her new name. He hopes it's okay with her that he still thinks of her as Mia.

He swallows. "It's uh… my mom. And… and my s-son." The lump in his throat, the fucking perpetual thing, is back and he has to blink a few times to steady himself.

"You lost your mother again?" Mia asks him. No further questions. Nothing about how that's possible at all.

He nods. "Yes. A few days ago we, uh," he clears his throat, "our son, he accidentally—um, she's… she's _gone_."

The last word barely leaves his lips. He looks away, but he knows she's still looking at him. He doesn't know if this is a good decision at all. He wishes Dean were here. He doesn't know how he's supposed to do this at all.

Mia crosses one leg over the other and leans back in her armchair. Sam remembers the last time he'd been to her office. It had been white. Pristine. This one is more colourful. The walls are not as untouched. The armchairs are a rich maroon. There are more paintings. Almost like Mia got better, like her own life got better. Not like the downhill journey that it's been for Sam.

"Your son," she says, interrupting his thoughts. "Is that the Nephilim? Jack?"

He nods. "Yeah. Yeah. He's not dead, but uh… he lost his grace. He's sick."

"And there's nothing you can do about it."

"Not unless we find his grace."

"Do it, then. Find his grace."

Sam swallows. "It's not that easy," he says. "I wish it were. We don't have much to go on with, except that we know it's a siren. It could be anywhere, and it could be any siren. We don't know."

"But you knew how to find me."

Sam blinks once, twice, then squints up at her. He shifts on the couch, shaking his head because he doesn't understand. "What?"

"Like I said, I changed my name and face," she says. "I'm a different person now. I'm in a different place."

"So?"

"You still found me, Sam." She tilts her head. "What makes you think you can't find the siren?"


	5. Therapy and a Date

**5\. Therapy and a Date**

Cas is reading a book in Jack's room when he hears him stir. Putting the book down, Cas looks up to see Jack shifting in his sheets and gets up from his seat to go check up on him. When he puts a hand to Jack's forehead, he finds that he's burning up. As a reflex Cas lets his grace flow through him to Jack but he knows as soon as he does it that it won't help. Not that it's helped in the past.

He hates being useless.

He hates that he's in such a helpless position. After everything with the siren, Dean seems to put everything off as a part of the curse but Cas doesn't know how to tell Dean that he felt for Dean even before all of… _this_. Of course, Dean knows that after what Sam revealed to them about Matt's venom, and now Cas knows that his feelings are reciprocated. In any other situation, he would have been elated to know this, but right now he is not.

He sees Dean trying to figure it out. Sometimes, Dean will open his mouth like he wants to say something but he won't, and Cas will wonder. Wonder if he wants Dean to admit to it at all. Because if Dean says it, Cas won't be able to further deny his own feelings, and he would have to let Dean down – because being with Dean would make Cas happy. So happy.

He isn't allowed to be happy. He knows the moment he's at his happiest, it's all going to be taken away, and he knows it would crush his family. He can't leave Jack's side just yet. He can't leave Sam and Dean. He needs to be around. Maybe after he's done everything he can, he will open his arms to the Empty. He's not afraid of dying anyway. He's afraid of leaving everybody behind.

**~o~**

Sam's knees bob up and down of their own accord as he nervously bites at the fingernail of his right index finger. His eyes are fixed on the paintings on the walls, not necessarily studying them, just looking.

"How have you been doing, Sam?" Mia asks, her voice gentle.

Sam isn't as nervous as the first time he'd come to her. He'd spoken to Dean and Cas and Jack about this, and they're all happy he's here and Dean's been extremely supportive of it all. It still feels weird, though. It's a different dynamic when he doesn't have to bullshit his way through his problems, when he doesn't have to lie to his family or Mia, since Mia knows everything about the hunting world that a normal therapist may not.

_Normal, _Sam almost scoffs at the irony. There's nothing normal about this situation, it never has been.

Nothing about his life has ever been normal.

"We still haven't found Jack's grace. He's slowly getting worse," Sam finds himself saying.

"While I appreciate that you care about your son, Sam, that wasn't my question."

Sam looks up in confusion, wringing his hands together out of habit.

"You want to talk about your family, and we will. But right now, I want to know how _you _are doing. It's not selfish to think or talk about yourself once in a while, you know."

Her stare isn't intimidating. It's patient and yet Sam finds himself squirming under her gaze, guilty, guilty that he's talking about himself… out of all the things that are wrong in his life, the most screwed-up, unfixable thing is _him_.

"I'm..." He takes a deep breath. He's not fine. For crying out loud, Sam knows he's not fine. He hesitates for the first time in his life, his automatic response to Mia's question suddenly that much harder to let out.

Because he knows it's a lie.

"I don't know," he finally says, pursing his lips. "I've been better?"

Mia nods, acknowledging Sam, but remains silent.

He appreciates the patience. He knows she's giving him time to sort out the absolute mess that is his brain.

"I feel – it's – I just don't..." Sam trails away, brows furrowed as frustration courses through him. He may not be the most eloquent person but he's a damn sight better than Dean at talking about his feelings.

So why is this so hard?

"Don't think too much. It doesn't have to make sense," Mia coaxes.

Sam takes a deep breath. "Helpless," he whispers. "I feel helpless."

"Why do you feel helpless?"

Sam rubs a hand across his face. Where should he even start? "Because I don't know how to save Jack."

"You'll find his grace."

Sam scoffs. "It's easy for you to say that. You're not the one who spends every damn night awake in bed unable to come up with any sort of lead. All I know is that a siren has it and wants to experiment with it. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

"Jack's dying, he's—" Sam cuts himself off unable to continue. No. He's not going to think like this. "I can't let him die. He's my son. I need to do everything in my power to make sure he's okay and he gets through this alive."

Mia smiles. "There you go."

Sam blinks, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You _feel _helpless, Sam. It doesn't mean you are. You're doing everything possible to try and save Jack. I don't see those as the actions of a helpless man."

"But what if I don't succeed? What if he dies?"

"Cross that bridge when you come to it. Why do you assume the worst?"

Sam blinks again, because holy shit, she's right. He's always assumed the worst. It's not necessarily under his control, seeing as life always dealt him and his family the worst cards possible. But Jack is alive, for now. That should mean something, and it does.

Sam bites his lip, goes on, "I also feel… like everything's too much."

"How so?"

"Dean and Cas almost died. They're okay and they're alive and yet all I can fixate on is the fact that they almost died. I mean, maybe it's because I haven't gotten sleep in forever, or it's just everything about Jack and now Dean and Cas happening at the same time and losing Mom, but it's just a little too much." Sam is unable to stop the flow of words.

What had seemed like a monumental task, suddenly isn't. While it still doesn't feel easy to put his thoughts to words, whatever he's spewing seems to make sense to Mia, so he keeps going.

"How does it make you feel?" she asks him, coaxing him on. "Talk to me."

"I'm…" he shrugs, "I guess I'm overwhelmed. Weak. They all depend on me. I'm afraid of letting them down. I've let them down before."

"The human psyche is a fascinating thing. Humans, if they desire to better themselves, learn from their mistakes. You say you've let them down before. What makes you so convinced you'll do it again?"

"Aren't I, already?" Sam scoffs. "You don't know the things I've done, the ways I've screwed up, the amount of times I've let Dean and my family down."

"Okay, let me put it this way then. If it were Dean sitting in front of me right now, or Cas, or Jack, and they were to be saying the same things, would you allow them to think of themselves in that manner?" Mia questions him, her eyebrows raised.

Before Sam can stop himself, he answers, "Of course not."

"Then why think of yourself that way?"

Sam doesn't have an answer.

**~o~**

Jack's fever has not reduced, and Cas is still at his bedside when Jack wakes up with a pained groan. Cas is quick to abandon his book again at the sound as he goes to Jack's bedside, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Jack," he whispers. "How're you feeling?"

Jack takes a breath and swallows. Cas can make out the sheen of sweat on his forehead and puts a palm to it, feeling the heat radiate from Jack's skin. Jack licks his lip. He's exceptionally pale.

Cas runs a hand through his hair. "You need anything?"

Jack nods. "Bathroom," he whispers.

"All right," says Cas, pulling the blankets away as he helps Jack up. Jack leans into him and lets Cas lead him to the bathroom, where Cas turns around as Jack finishes his business. Once Jack flushes Cas turns around to see his son holding on to the wall of the toilet, eyes shut as he sways. Cas goes forward to help him, but Jack shudders and clutches at Cas's hand.

"Cas."

"What happened?"

"Think—" Jack swallows. "I feel sick."

"Oh. It's all right," says Cas, "I'll help you, just…" He helps Jack kneel down, waits as Jack hovers over the toilet. He shivers, and it hits Cas that he should bring Jack's blankets in because throwing up is uncomfortable as it is, and maybe Cas can help him just a little this way.

Jack's still hovering over the pot when Cas gets up. He exits the bathrooms, only to find Dean outside, frowning.

"Everything all right?" he asks.

Cas shrugs. "Jack is nauseous. I just wanted to bring him his blanket."

"Okay," says Dean. He hesitates. "Do you need help?"

Cas presses his lips together, wondering if he should ask or not. He doesn't want to listen to another word from Dean about how Jack's a murderer or so help him God—

"You want me to go in?" Dean asks him, interrupting his thoughts.

"Do you mind doing that?"

"To help you? No."

Cas gives him a wan smile. "Then I'll take what I can get, Dean. I'll just get his blankets if you could be around for him."

"Sure," says Dean, getting into the bathroom, leaving Cas to ponder if Dean will ever come to love Jack again.

**~o~**

Jack is retching miserably into the toilet bowl when Dean enters the bathroom. He cringes, because puke, but he stands there, knowing he needs to help if necessary.

Seeing Jack like this sends a bolt of distress through Dean and he wishes he did not feel this way. But he's here and he said he'd help Cas and maybe this is just the best way to desensitise himself from this bullshit, right?

Jack finishes, reaching a shaky hand to flush the toilet but he can't quite do it as he sways, bringing his hand back to clutch at his seat. Dean feels his heart drop and takes a step forward. "You okay?"

"No," Jack whispers. "Dizzy."

He sways again and Dean rushes to help, wishing Cas would come back so he wouldn't have to be here. "Okay," he says to Jack, "let's get you lying down."

Jack doesn't protest, pliable in Dean's grip as Dean lets him lie on the cool bathroom floor. He shivers as Dean flushes the toilet for him, then reaches for Jack's legs, pulling them up so they're resting against the rim of the bathtub. He glances at the door to see if Cas is back but he isn't, so Dean sits beside Jack, cross-legged.

Jack groans, eyes rolling under his lids, and Dean hesitates, then places his hand on Jack's shoulder. "All right, kid," he whispers, "all right." He lets himself slip into familiar role of taking care of Jack and wishes his mom had not died, so this could have been easier on all of them.

**~o~**

If Dean, Cas or Jack notice Sam spacing out throughout the rest of the day, lost in thought, they don't point it out. Sam came home to the news that Jack had passed out, and Cas seemed a little hopeful because Dean had helped. Dean warming up to Jack again, though… Sam learned in his therapy today that that isn't his biggest concern at the moment. As long as Dean doesn't actively want to kill Jack, which he doesn't, Sam's not going to upset himself with it.

At least, he'll try. In truth, he knows it will be a process. Sam is reluctant to start taking medication, so he's sticking to therapy, though Mia had told Sam that when he's ready for it, she will send him to a psychiatrist.

Honestly, Sam hadn't banked on therapy working, but it's got him thinking about things he probably wouldn't have thought of on his own. Maybe it's a good thing. He doesn't expect it to fix him in any way, but he finds he almost likes the talks with Mia.

She has a presence that radiates calm and safety. Sam thinks that the fact that she's essentially a part of 'their' world is what makes it work. Sam doesn't have to lie, or bullshit his way through anything because with Mia being a shapeshifter, she knows almost all the ins and outs of the world of hunters and monsters.

Somehow, it works.

As Sam lies in bed that night, he decides that maybe he'll keep this going. He doesn't expect Mia to fix him anytime soon. He's probably way too screwed up in the head to fix completely. But if she can help him deal with the chaos that is his mind and turn it into slightly organized and easier to deal with chaos, then Sam will count that as a win. Maybe he will even take up her offer and visit the psychiatrist in the end. Maybe.

**~o~**

Dean is in a predicament. It's been a week since Sam killed the siren, the goddamned siren that got him and Cas so horny for each other, but things don't seem to have changed for Dean. He's still... he _likes_ Cas. The sex dreams and the itching have ceased, and there's no pain anymore but Dean still doesn't seem to feel any different. He shouldn't be feeling this way, but he is, and he can't understand why.

Dean's avoided thinking about it and talking about it at all costs, and at first, he thought maybe the fact that he is still attracted to Cas may have been the lingering effects of the siren's spell. However, much to his chagrin, it's been a week and there's still nothing different. The spell is broken, but his feelings for Cas haven't changed in the slightest. Which is ridiculous because Cas is Dean's friend.

It all has a different feel to it though. The idea of being with Cas brings a sense of warmth within Dean. A warmth he can't quite place, can't quite figure out.

It's this confusion that now has him standing outside Jack's door yet again for the second time since they got Jack home. He knows Sam's sitting there, taking care of Jack.

From what Dean's heard, Jack's condition has plateaued somewhat. Cas and Sam had been discussing it in hushed voices earlier today when they thought Dean couldn't listen. Well, Dean heard them, and he doesn't care what Jack feels like right now. He still doesn't approve of the kid living in the bunker but it's two against one, and after everything they've been through, he's tried to be civil over the past week.

Dean diverts his mind from Jack and thinks about his own problem. If this were a couple weeks ago, before the siren incident, Dean wouldn't even have dreamed of coming to Sam with these thoughts running through his mind, but he now feels a new kind of respect for Sam. Despite the teasing and leg pulling, Sam's stuck by his side. Sam's the reason he and Cas are alive. For once, even if Sam teases him, something tells Dean that Sam will listen, and he won't judge.

It's not that he has a problem being attracted to a man, lord knows he's experimented before, and Cas isn't exactly a dude anyway. No, this was never about being… being _bi_. It's the fact that he seems to be attracted to Castiel in particular that makes Dean uneasy.

Knowing that if he'll probably never do it if not now, he knocks on Jack's door, working to keep his emotions in check. He's nervous… kinda. He's not sure how he feels. He just hopes it will all get better at some point.

Sam looks surprised when he opens the door. "Dean?" He raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

Dean coughs. Okay. Okay. This is it. This is the moment. He tries to look Sam in the eye but he can't, and Sam seems to have realised already that something is up.

"Dean?"

Dean chews on his bottom lip, then speaks. "Can I talk to you? Alone?" he asks, choosing to stare at a spot just a little to the left of Sam's head.

"Sure," Sam says as he steps out and closes the door behind him.

Before Dean can stop himself, he blurts, "He okay?"

Sam's eyes widen, perplexed. "Uh, you really wanna know?"

Dean grits his teeth, cursing his stupid mouth. "Forget it. That's not why I'm here anyway," he says offhandedly. He knows his cavalier tone doesn't sit right with Sam but to Dean's relief, if Sam notices, he doesn't comment on it.

Dean gestures towards Sam's room, the closest one from here. Sam agrees and they walk in silence. As Dean follows Sam into his room, he tries to figure out how to exactly put his whirlwind of thoughts into actual words that make sense.

They enter the room and Dean makes a show of switching the light on, but Sam's already impatient. "So, what's up?" he asks as he sits on the edge of his bed, running a hand tiredly through his hair before picking up a bottle of water from his bedside table to drink from.

Dean opts to sit at Sam's desk chair, sitting so that his legs are on either side of it, the back serving as a rest for his arms. He leans in and clears his throat. "Look, I know this is going to sound stupid and it's probably nothing; lingering effects of the spell maybe. But... fuckin' hell," Dean groans running a hand over his face. "I still wanna fuck him."

Dean knows it's probably the last thing Sam expects to hear and he knows he's right when Sam chokes on the water he's drinking and coughs and splutters. When he finally emerges, Dean's surprised to see the unsurprised look on Sam's face, as if, despite his reaction, he'd actually expected this.

"Then fuck him," says Sam, wiping water off his face. "Why did you come to me about it?"

Dean's mouth hangs open. This is the last thing he predicted would happen. "Are you out of your mind?" he asks.

"Why not?" Sam challenges.

"Because!" Dean exclaims. "Because I'm me and he's him, Sam." Dean says and he knows it makes no sense, and yet a sense of irritation fills him as he watches Sam roll his eyes at him.

"You're an idiot, you know that? Go talk to Cas about this," Sam says and gets to his feet to then pull Dean to his feet as well, manhandling him until they're both standing outside Sam's room.

"Let go!" Dean whines as he pulls his arm out of Sam's. "What the hell, Sam?!"

Sam points towards Cas's room. "You're talking to the wrong person. Talk to Cas, maybe he'll surprise you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dean." Sam has the audacity to sound exasperated. "If you haven't caught a hint by now, you're hopeless. I'm not going to spell it out for you. Go out to dinner or something with Cas. Talk it out. Please spare me the details when you get back, though. I've found out way too much about your sexual preferences and desires over the last two weeks than I would have preferred and it's not information that I want or need."

Sam leaves Dean standing in the middle of the hallway. Dean is unable to form a response and by the time his brain catches up with his mouth, Sam's already retreated back into Jack's room.

Go out for dinner? Just him and Cas?

_Sounds like a date._

Dean physically shakes his head at the thought but his own mind amazes him when the idea doesn't actually seem so bad. In fact, it sparks an excitement within his core. A date with Cas sounds so good. Dean will never admit it to Sam, but maybe he has a point. He likes the idea of a date. He also likes the idea of slowly stripping Cas of his clothes but they should take it slow, right? And where the fuck are these thoughts even coming from?

All Dean can think about is how perfectly Cas's body had fit alongside his when they'd made out, of Cas's thrusting against him, grinding with quiet moans, of holding Cas, his hands, feeling him, kissing him and biting him, and how there was no pain when they did it. Of how it seemed like bliss, reprieve from their suffering.

Maybe it was more than that. Does he dare hope?

This is _Cas_. This is someone he's known for years. He realizes that's the major reason why he's unsure. If he decides to open up to this and things don't work out, Dean doesn't know what he'll do.

Cas has always been his best friend.

_But we could be more, _says a small part of Dean's mind.

Just like that, he's made up his mind and before he can convince himself to change it, he hurries towards Cas's room, determined to set things right.

**~o~**

Dean knocks at Cas's door before he can chicken out. He needs to ask Cas out, right now, and if he does it soon, it won't turn out any other way and Dean won't have time to regret anything. That's all he needs. He needs to stop making these stupid mistakes.

When Cas opens the door he looks pretty as ever, the blue of his eyes on Dean, his lips in a small smile. "Hello, Dean," he says.

Dean's heartbeat picks up, and it's like he can feel it in his throat. It's now or never, and it has to be, it has to be now.

"Hey, Cas."

Cas raises his eyebrows. "Did you want to talk?" he asks. "Is Sam all right? Is Jack?"

"Yeah," says Dean, "they're both—" he shrugs, "well, I don't know about Jack to be honest, but," he takes a breath, "you wanna go out with me?"

Cas frowns. "Now?"

"No, no," Dean scratches at the back of his neck. "In a couple days maybe. We uh…" He clears his throat. "Like a date," he explains.

"A date."

"You know what that is, right?"

Cas smiles. "Of course, Dean. And yes, we can go on a date in a few days."

Dean wants to kiss the stupid nerd but he barely manages to keep himself in check, hiding the blush that creeps up in his face as he rushes out of the room.

**~o~**

The sound of someone trying to hack up a lung echoes through the corridors of the bunker just as Sam exits the bathroom. "Shit," he curses under his breath as he almost trips over his own feet, hurrying towards Jack's room. As he opens the door, his heart breaks at the sight that meets him. Jack is hunched over himself on his bed, almost folding in half at the waist. His face is flushed red, drenched in sweat that seeps along the neck of his shirt and back while he struggles to breathe in between the constant barrage of coughs that rip out of his throat.

He sits by Jack's side, rubbing lightly on his back, trying to get him to sit up straight. Every cough and every weak wheeze sends a dagger through Sam's heart. It was hard enough to see Jack go through this the first time, and to see it happening again just feels worse.

Sam murmurs reassurances under his breath as he gets Jack to sit up and lean against him, still rubbing circles on his back. It's a whole fifteen minutes before the coughs finally subside and Jack sags against Sam.

It's another five before he croaks, "Thanks. Sorry about that."

"Don't mention it. You okay?"

Jack nods. "Didn't cough up blood for once."

"Good, that's good."

They sit in silence, Jack slowly making an effort to steady his erratic breathing and Sam wanting to do nothing more than take every bit of pain and suffering away from his son.

"Don't you have therapy today?" Jack asks.

Sam nods. He does have a therapy session with Mia, but now he's wondering if he should cancel. Jack would be left home alone seeing as Dean and Cas are out on their date.

Well, that is kind of a relief, despite the constant underlying state of worry Sam finds himself in regarding Jack. Dean and Cas finally seem to have pulled their heads out of their asses, more so Dean than Cas. He's going to have so much blackmail material and he's going to relish picking on Dean for the foreseeable future.

"How's it going?" Jack asks, looking at Sam.

Sam smiles seeing the genuine concern that shine behind Jack's eyes. "It's good. I think. I mean, I don't know yet, I guess. It seems to be helping. She's definitely got me thinking about some stuff I didn't before. Thanks for… you know." He shrugs. How on earth is his kid so insightful?

"That's good," Jack says, smiling back. "I'm glad it's helping you, Sam."

He turns his gaze towards something else and Sam spots Jack looking at the glass of water on the bedside table, longing. He silently hands the glass over, smirking at the sheepish look on Jack's face as he takes a few sips of water before handing it back to be put onto the table.

"You should go, you'll be late," Jack says, glancing at the clock that sits next to the glass of water.

"I can go some other time. You're more important right now."

Jack frowns. "Sam, don't miss therapy because of me. I'll be fine. Just go."

Sam sighs, having expected Jack to argue. "Jack, Dean and Cas aren't home. I don't know when they'll be back. I can't just leave you like this."

"I can take care of myself," replies Jack, stubborn. "I'm not a kid."

"Technically, you're a toddler. I'm not saying you can't take care of yourself. I'd feel better if I was here looking out for you instead of worrying about you while I'm at therapy," Sam tries to explain.

"Soon enough, you won't have to worry about me."

Dread settles itself within Sam. Jack can't seriously be talking about this. "What do you mean?" he dares to ask.

"I mean that I know I'm not getting any better. Don't waste time on someone that's dying."

The matter-of-fact tone that Jack uses cuts Sam differently. "Don't say that. Don't you dare say that, Jack."

Jack shrugs, staying silent. _It's the truth._

The tense silence between them builds and just when Sam thinks he can't take it anymore, Jack breaks it. "Please?" he says. "Go for me. I promise I'll be fine. I'll call you if anything happens," he adds, holding up his phone.

Sam is torn. On one hand, he knows he won't concentrate with Mia if his mind is on Jack the whole time, but on the other hand he knows that Jack will fight him tooth and nail on this. He finally gives up and raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, kiddo. Okay."

He calls Mia's assistant and is glad to know that his appointment can be postponed by half-an-hour so he can wait with Jack for a bit. When twenty minutes pass and Jack doesn't have another severe cough attack, Sam decides that he can leave. As he drives along the unpaved road adjacent to the bunker, he just hopes he's made the right decision, leaving Jack behind.

**~o~**

It's Cas's favourite diner that they finally end up in. He likes the coffee here and he doesn't eat much and God knows, he and Dean have been here alone so many times but Dean… Dean called it a date. Cas knows that you don't date your friends.

Dean still doesn't know about the deal. He doesn't know about the restrictions on Cas. For so long after the siren's attack they were skirting around each other and had avoided any conversations about this and now they're on a date and Cas has to tell him.

Cas watches as Dean munches enthusiastically on a large bite of his burger, so blissfully unaware. He must be so happy that he asked Cas on a date, and that it seemingly worked out, but Cas has to let Dean down and he doesn't know how to do it. He's been head over heels for Dean as long as he can remember, but God, he's so, so afraid of letting go.

Dean chooses to look up at Cas at that moment, and having caught Cas staring at him, he winks. A drop of ketchup clings to his bottom lip and without thinking, Cas raises a hand and wipes it off with his thumb before he realizes what he's just done. He immediately goes still and pulls his hand back as though he's been burned, but the damage is done.

Castiel wants nothing more than to bolt out of the diner, but his legs don't seem to cooperate.

It's not like they haven't been doing similar things. Cas relishes every moment he gets to holds hands with Dean, and he loves that if Cas's fingers linger just a second longer upon Dean's skin, that Dean doesn't pull away. He still feels Dean's phantom lips upon his own, trailing their way down his jaw. His body still remembers the feel of Dean rough hands, ever so gentle as they'd clung to his skin under his shirt. His mind still remembers the wanton moans of pleasure he'd elicited from Dean.

Castiel knows part of them making out on the floor of the bunker had been due to the spell and the absolute agony they'd been suffering, but Cas would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't enjoyed it.

He's brought out of his reverie when Dean places his hand atop of Cas's on the table, frowning slightly. "You okay?"

Cas nods, maybe almost too quickly as Dean looks suspicious. He sighs. "Sorry, just lost in thought."

He stares at Dean's hand on his. Does he dare? He moves his hand out slowly from under Dean's who looks slightly crestfallen at the action but before Dean can read it the wrong way, Cas entwines his fingers with Dean's and looks up to meet the bright green eyes he's come to love.

The light blush that creeps across Dean's cheekbones along with the playful smile is reward enough.

"What were you thinking about?" Dean asks, pushing his half empty plate away from him. Cas's own soda remains untouched.

Cas shrugs. "Nothing important."

"Right," Dean says but Cas knows he doesn't believe him. In an effort to fill the silence, he grabs a hold of his soda glass and takes a large gulp, resulting in a little bit of the drink spilling out of the corner of his mouth. He swears under his breath and is about to wipe it off when his eyes catch the look on Dean's face.

Dean's own eyes are tracking the soda droplets as they trickle down Cas's chin, slide down his neck and under Cas's collar, and Cas can see Dean's gaze move further down. His pupils are blown.

Cas gulps, a thrill of pleasure going down his spine at the way that Dean's looking at him. If angels could be damned to hell, Cas would have been a long-term resident a long time ago.

**~o~**

"So, how are you doing Sam?"

Sam hesitates, lips pursed. He's doesn't want to be here. He wants to go back to Jack. He knows Jack will feel better if he knows Sam came to therapy but still… he wants to go back and he can't leave Jack alone and talk about himself.

It's not that he doesn't believe what Mia's told him over the past few sessions. It's just that it's been hard to wrap his head around all of that, yet everything he's been told so far has made complete sense.

But just because it makes sense, doesn't mean it's easy to just accept. Sam sighs. Yes, he supposes he shouldn't think of himself as a screw up or a waste of time, but… when he's literally doing just that — leaving his terminally ill kid at home to fend for himself… it doesn't feel right.

He licks his lips. "I've been thinking a lot about what you told me and I appreciate the insight you've given me," he finally voices.

"I'm sensing a 'but'," Mia comments.

Sam smiles wryly. "But I guess it's just hard to think of myself that way, when I've grown up believing completely different."

Mia nods, a look of understanding on her face. "That's understandable."

"It is?"

"It's called cognitive distortion. It's part of your depression. We're here to help you out of those thoughts. To help you understand them, and get to the root of them. You've been depressed so long that these thoughts have become a part of you, and I know it seems like you can never get rid of them, Sam, but I assure you that there is a way out. It takes time, and you need a lot more therapy, but it will."

"I know."

"You know it takes time."

"Yes, you'd explained… but…" Sam sighs. "I don't – I don't _have_ time."

"Who says that?"

"My – my—" _Jack is dying. _Sam falls quiet, lost for words. He doesn't understand why he's so restless and what to do about it.

Mia folds her hands upon each other, puts them on her lap. "You need to give yourself time," she says. "Like I said, you will not notice the difference until you take a bit. Until you come here a few more times."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. I have faith in you."

Sam sighs. "I figured you'd maybe be disappointed."

"Why would I be disappointed?"

"Why wouldn't you be? You've spent all this time with me trying to help me make some goddamn sense of whatever it is in my head and here I am telling you that I don't know if I believe you."

"You don't have to believe me."

Frustration courses through him. "Isn't that the point of all of this?"

Mia shifts a little closer, her gaze gentle. "What do you think is 'the point of all of this?'"

The frustration turns vocal as a strangled noise escapes his throat. Why does it suddenly feel like this is the last place he wants to be? This may have been helping Sam, singularly, but he doesn't understand how it's going to help in the long run. He's screwed up and he's accepted that. Maybe he could be in the bunker right now working on better things, on saving his son.

He should never have come here.

"I should leave," Sam says curtly as he gets to his feet. Yet, while he wants to walk to the door, his feet don't respond.

"You're welcome to leave, Sam."

"You're not going to stop me?"

Mia shakes her head. "While I would prefer you stay and talk about what's going through your mind right now, I will not force you to stay. It's entirely your decision."

Sam doesn't know what makes him sit back down, but he does. Mia doesn't speak further and Sam knows she's waiting for him to start.

But he doesn't know where, or how.

"I…" Sam trails off, a hand flying up to clutch at his hair. "Fuck."

"Just talk, Sam."

If anything, it's the patience and the encouragement that finally gets through to Sam.

"This is supposed to fix me. Whatever crazy is in my head, whatever you're doing to help, it's supposed to fix me, right? But… but I can't be fixed! It doesn't matter how long it takes — I mean, what's the point of any of this if I don't believe you or if it's just hard to wrap my head around? I'm just wasting time by being here, then, aren't I? My son is dying, he's fucking _dying, _and I've already lost Mom, and—"

Sam's breath hitches, eyes sting and he takes a shaky breath. Great, now he's crying. Just great. He gazes at the floor, unable to meet Mia's eyes.

"You're not crazy."

Sam scoffs wetly, sniffing. "I feel like I'm going crazy."

"You've been through a lot, Sam. It isn't my job to fix you, because there's nothing to be fixed," Mia explains, leaning into the table before her, silently prompting him to look at her. "You're not broken. You've just been through a lot."

Sam scoffs. How can there be nothing to be fixed? He feels broken, shattered, _exhausted._ There's no part of him that can be described as _whole_. He's even been told on one occasion that he's duct tape and safety pins inside. Of course, that had been in a completely different context, but right now, Sam thinks that's quite an accurate description of his mental state.

"Sam, you've been through immense pain and grief. More so than the average human being. Anyone else would have crumbled under the weight you and your family constantly hold. While it isn't fair that you've had to deal with so much, the strength you possess is admirable."

A single tear escapes, trailing its way down Sam's cheek. He's never had anyone _understand _what it feels like to be him. And yet, somehow in a few words, Mia gets it. He doesn't know if he agrees with her notion of him having strength but he'll take it for what it is.

Suddenly, he feels guilty for even doubting her.

"I'm sorry," Sam says, hastily wiping at his eyes.

"It's okay to cry, Sam. The mind can only take so much before it's overwhelmed. Let yourself feel what you need to feel. Better out than in," she adds wryly.

Sam laughs weakly. He listens. Tears run silently down his face as wave upon wave of grief, of pain, of the last three decades of his life crash upon him. It isn't like when he broke down in front of Dean and Cas.

This is different, cathartic almost.

He cries for his mother, how he got to spend so little time with her, and how she deserved better. He cries for his brother and best friend, and their pain and grief. He cries for Jack, his son, who's slowly withering away, whom Sam can't lose.

For once, he lets himself feel every bit of emotion he's denied himself over the past few weeks. He allows himself to cry, _really_ cry.

**~o~**

Dean shuts and bolts the bathroom door and turns around, only to have Cas crowd into his space. Cas pins him to the door behind him, dusting kisses along Dean's jaw line, making their way lower and lower along Dean's neck, clutching onto him.

With every kiss, Cas rocks his hips into Dean's, heat pooling at Dean's lower belly. Fuck, Cas is good at this. Dean's hands come up to grasp roughly at his hair and shoulders, overwhelmed as he shudders, trying to be quiet.

When they're not being hindered by actual physical agony, it feels a hundred times better.

Dean's breath catches in his throat as Cas moves up to claim Dean's lips against his own, fast, needy, desperate. His hands move up, hold onto Dean's, fingers interlaced.

Dean smirks against Cas's lips, pulls him ahead and turns him around so that Cas is now flush against the door.

"Dean," Cas calls out, voice even huskier and deeper than usual and fuck if that's not sexy. Dean nibbles at Cas's earlobes, loving the noises he's eliciting. He sucks lightly at the skin just under Cas's jaw before starting to move downwards.

His hands pull at Cas's shirt, untucking it from his waistband. His fingers trail lightly over Cas's abdomen, feeling the muscle quivers beneath his touch.

"Dean, stop."

"You wish," Dean whispers, tongue going to trace on Cas's skin but Cas holds Dean, trying to pull him away.

"Dean," he says, "please."

Confusion trickles through the haze of arousal and pleasure. "What happened?" he asks, straightening, hair askew and gasping for breath as Cas starts to tuck his shirt in again. Dean's heart skips a beat at the look of absolute anguish on Cas's face.

"Cas—"

"I'm sorry." Cas is putting his belt on now, hurrying as he reaches for his trenchcoat. Before Dean can say another word, Cas throws the bathroom door open and practically sprints out, across the diner back towards the Impala.

Dean doesn't know what to think. He doesn't know what even happened. Cas had been into it, he's the one that had initiated it. There's more to this than Cas being ashamed or not attracted or...

A trickle of doubt needles its way into Dean.

Did Dean read the signs wrong? Was Cas not attracted to him?

Dean decides it's time to talk, and he exits the mercifully empty bathroom to go after Cas. He heads to their table and glances at his half-eaten burger. On any given day, he'd have taken a doggie bag but right now, his appetite is non-existent. His only concern is Cas.

He leaves money under the soda bottle to pay for their meal and heads out the door towards the Impala where Cas is stood outside, pacing, hands pulling at his own hair. It's quite the image with half his shirt untucked, the first few buttons popped open, eyes wide and the hair disheveled.

Dean would honestly find it hot if it wasn't for the fact that Cas wears an expression of absolute torture and misery. Dean nears the Impala, cautious, and Cas stills as he spots him.

"I'm fine," he says, before Dean even asks him. "I'm sorry, I just...needed some air." He refuses to meet Dean's eyes.

Dean sighs, as he leans against the hood of the car. "You and I both know that's bullshit."

Cas clenches his jaw, breathing heavily.

"Look, I don't know what this is between us, okay? But I know when something's up. I can see it eating at you. Talk to me, man," Dean pleads.

Cas looks up at Dean, and the storm that rages behind his eyes scares Dean. He's never seen Castiel look this defeated, this forlorn. Dean holds out a hand and waits until Castiel sighs and slips his hand into Dean's, allowing Dean to pull him close so that they're both leaning against the hood.

"Cas."

"I made a deal."

It's so quiet that had Dean not been concentrating, he probably wouldn't have heard it. The confession brews dread within Dean's gut.

"What?"

"When Jack died and I'd gone to heaven to search for him, the Empty was there too. It tried to take Jack into the Empty, him being part angel. I couldn't let that happen, so I... I made a deal to save his life."

Dean feels numb and stays quiet, unsure of how to respond.

"Dean, I want this. I want _us. _But I can't. I'll never be able to because of this deal."

"What do you mean?"

"I offered to take Jack's place but it put forth a condition. It would let me live until I felt the happiest I could. If I'm happy, or joyous, the most positive I can be, it'll come to take me." Cas's eyes are full of turmoil as he continues. "If I give myself over to you, if I let myself feel the way I want to feel for even one second, it'll come for me. I want to be happy with you, Dean. I want nothing more than that. But I can't. I just—" Cas brings his hands back up to tug at his hair, tears filling his eyes.

Dean's never seen Cas this strung out, unstable, emotional. It tears at him.

He's taken aback when Castiel looks at him again and suddenly this time, his eyes showing nothing but defeat. "Funny," Cas says, voice thick. The tears fall down his face, unbidden, and Dean wants to wipe them away but he's so scared. So scared to hurt Cas further.

"I spent my whole life yearning to be happy with you," Cas continues, sniffing, I hoped that maybe one day you'd see how much I care, how much I want you, and…" he pauses, "I wanted you to know how much I love you. But now that you do, I can't be a part of it."

Dean's heart beats a mile a minute. Cas loves him. Cas loves him. God _wow_. He wordlessly reaches out to hold onto Cas's hand, absently rubbing his thumb over the back of Cas's palm. Cas rests his head on Dean's shoulder. Why is their life always a clusterfuck of this kind? Why can't they be happy for once?

It's another challenge for them. It's not like they haven't made other deals, it's not like they haven't always found a way out. Dean knows they will, this time as well.

"We'll figure it out," he says after a beat.

Castiel looks at him, unconvinced.

"We will," Dean promises, firm. "I'm not losing you, Cas. We'll figure it out, like we always do."


	6. When Dean Winchester Was Manipulated

**6\. When Dean Winchester Was Manipulated**

"Just for the record, I'm coming over to support you, and Cas, if he decides he needs this too but nothing else. You drag me into therapy with you, and I'm kicking your ass. We clear?"

Sam sighs, processing his brother's words as he rests his elbow on the Impala's window ledge. The wind blows his hair back and it's cool but it doesn't bite, and he feels good. He doesn't care what Dean says. He always knew Dean would resist this, but the fact that his brother's just accompanying him to Mia's is saying a lot. It's the first step. They'll deal with the rest later.

"So, this therapist," Dean says, eyes looking straight ahead at the stretch of road ahead of them, "she make you write a journal like she made those people do when we worked the case?"

Sam shrugs. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

"Really?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you about my therapy, Dean. That's not how this works."

"So why'd you drag me and Cas into this?"

Sam glances at Cas's reflection on the rear-view mirror. Cas is solemn, lips upturned and eyes earnest as he looks out of the window, unwilling to join Sam and Dean's conversation at this point. Sam understands it's hard for him too, in so many other ways, and him and Dean—he can't even fathom it. After what Cas revealed to them, after everything that happened between then and now, Sam can't believe Dean's asking him this question.

He absolutely didn't drag Dean into this. Sam knew that somewhere Dean was convinced about needing therapy, or they wouldn't be going there at all. It would be Sam again, just Sam, and maybe Cas. No, Dean knows deep inside that he needs help too. Sam is glad for that. The hardest part of all of this has been overcome. Now it's about getting Dean to talk to the therapist.

**~o~**

Dean knows he's going to bolt from this place as soon as possible. Mia Vallens's office is somewhat similar to what it had been the last time, or maybe it has changed—he's not sure. He just doesn't care. Not really. He doesn't know. He's here for Sammy and Cas. Because, Cas, _God_, that's fucked up. All the shit between them is fucked up. And maybe after everything he and Cas have been through, he's gotta support the dude a little bit.

Sure, they're mad attracted to each other. Okay, Dean knows that and he's admitted it to himself now. He's not sure where those feelings even came from, like some fucking asteroid hitting him, and he wonders if it will be gone when they take out the sirens who've currently got Jack's grace. That's probably why he wants to get those sirens anyway. Not that he feels such deep emotion for the kid — that's gone now, that can't happen anymore — but okay, maybe this will be less confusing once they get the other sirens.

That fucking disastrous date, though. Cas's got issues. And they did really do that, huh. They went on a _date_. Dean's been on a date with his best fucking friend, and, yes, things are weird between them now, but that date had sucked. Things just got worse.

That's why he's here to see Mia Vallens. Maybe she can put Cas back together without having Cas thrown into Empty. Maybe she can put their family back together and they'll never have to feel all this shit again.

Dean doesn't know why he's here.

Right, he came for Cas and Sammy. He's here for them. To help them, support them, because they need him. They need him. He's okay. He doesn't need anyone like they do.

**~o~**

Sam's not sure where Dean's at, but he can tell his brother's not paying attention to anything that's going on around them. Mia takes introductions, and Dean absentmindedly tells her his name and is back in his own realm as she talks about her therapy, and everything it involves. Sam keeps eyeing Dean on occasion. He knows that Mia's seeing it too. She's seeing his brother's reaction to the whole thing.

He isn't surprised when Mia leans forward on her chair, eyes on Dean for a moment before she turns to Sam and Cas.

"I need to speak to him alone," she tells them. "I will call you both back in."

Sam stands up immediately and smiles at her. "Sure. We'll be in the waiting room." He gestures to Cas who seems befuddled, but follows him out anyway. Sam shuts the door behind him, wondering how Dean will react later to having to speak to Mia alone, and hoping this will help all of them because he's not sure he can even hope anymore if it doesn't. He's not sure they have anywhere else to go or anything else to do at all. This is their last resort and it has to work.

It needs to work.

**~o~**

Dean barely protests when Sam and Cas leave. He expected this, he thinks, that the doc would want to speak to him alone. He's here to help them and if this is what he needs to do, he will. So he gathers himself, and braces himself for therapy he didn't ask for.

Before him, Mia adjusts herself on the armchair. Dean focusses his gaze on the curtains behind her that flutter against the window, sunlight falling through the chink. Dean blinks, then looks back at Mia Vallens. She opens her mouth, considers him for a moment, and then speaks.

"So," she says, "how are you doing, Dean?"

He raises an eyebrow, then throws a small smile at her. "I'm doing awesome. Thought you already knew that."

She tilts her head. "Maybe. I just wanted to hear it from you."

"Like I said," he replies. "Awesome."

"Good." A pause. "And Castiel?"

Dean clears his throat. "You gotta ask him that, right?"

"I want to know what you think," she says. "How do you think he's doing?"

The curtains move and the sunlight is yellow on rich maroon. Dean can see the shadows of the window, distorted by the folds on the cloth. Mia clears her throat and he turns back to her and she nods at him, expecting an answer.

How is Cas doing?

Not good.

Dean looks into her eyes. "Not good," he says. "Cas ain't good."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, for one, our — _his_ kid is dying."

"His kid?"

"Jack."

"Isn't he yours too? Jack?"

All right, so Sam's told her everything. Okay. It doesn't matter. Doesn't make Dean think any more of Jack as his son. That's long gone and he doesn't think it's coming back. It broke a while ago.

"Jack ain't mine," he says,

"Because he killed your mother," Mia replies.

"Sam told you?"

"Yes."

"So you'd get why I'm pissed, because my brother and my – my — _Cas_ — they think I'm being unreasonable."

She's quiet for a moment. She listens. At least, it looks like she heard Dean, but she barely reacts because she's scrutinising him again.

"Isn't he a child?" asks Mia.

"A Nephilim."

"And a child."

Dean blinks, focusses his gaze on his jeans. "Yeah he is. So?"

"He's also clearly important to your brother. And Castiel."

"Yeah," says Dean, defiant. "So?"

"I don't need to explain, Dean."

Dean smiles, a chuckle breaking out of him before he can help it. All of this and he can't believe… he can't believe they're here. Jack may be a kid and he might have been Dean's kid but their mom is dead.

"With all due respect, Doc," he says, looking straight at Mia, "but that's crap. He kills my Mom, he ain't my kid anymore. This isn't something small, like him making a mistake a kid would make. This is our mom. _My_ mom."

"Sam tells me he feels regret."

"Who, Sammy? Or Jack?"

"Jack."

Dean grits his teeth at Mia's soothing therapist voice and looks away, taking a deep breath. "He doesn't have a soul," he says. "Jack doesn't have a soul to feel anything."

"And Castiel?"

"What about Cas?"

"Does he have a soul?"

Dean puts his hand on the armrest of his couch, clenching it. He thinks he wants to walk away. It might be best to do that because this is bullshit. This is bullshit. What does she even mean by these questions and what's the point in asking them? They came here for Sam and Cas, not so _Dean_ can get fucking therapy. He doesn't need it. He's all right.

"Dean."

Mia's voice disrupts Dean from the raging thoughts in his head. He looks at her, eyes narrowed, challenging her to ask more stupid questions. She is unfazed as she returns his gaze, still infuriatingly calm and nonchalant.

"Dean," she repeats, "you didn't answer my question."

"About what?"

"Does Castiel have a soul?"

"No," Dean tells her. "Does it matter?"

"No," she says, "it doesn't. But if he doesn't have a soul or feelings, why did you think he would need me?"

"I didn't say he doesn't feel," Dean tells her. "Dude can be tough as nails but sometimes shit happens and it's like what happened the other day."

"What happened?"

"You know." Dean licks his lip. "I'm sure Sammy told you."

"Sam doesn't talk about your life with Castiel."

"This isn't my _life_ with—" Dean takes a deep breath and clenches his jaw. "Can you help him?"

"Whom, Castiel?"

"Yes. And my brother."

"I will speak to them when I get to it."

"Yeah but Sammy's been coming here a while."

"I cannot talk to you about my other patients," says Mia, persistent. "I will not talk to them about you either. So you will have to tell me if there's anything, Dean."

"Okay," he says, "then I can't tell you about Cas. You gotta ask him."

"That's fair," she says. "But with whatever happened — the incident that you're referring to, how did you feel about it?"

Dean almost rolls his eyes but decides not to go with it. He thinks it's clear how he felt, especially since they're here with Cas and they're trying to support him. He wonders if Sam's been doing these useless exercises for the last few days. Or playing stupid games like this with Mia Vallens.

"You know," he says, "I think it's pretty obvious how I felt."

"Which was?"

"That Cas needs help." Does he need to spell it out for her?

"He doesn't have a soul," she says, and Jesus, she's telling him the same fucking thing again.

Dean sighs. "I know. He doesn't have a soul." He makes to stand up, feeling stupid about being here and even more stupid about sitting to answer all the fucking questions she just asked, as if he doesn't have anything else to do.

"Yes," says Mia, "so if you think Castiel needs help from me despite not having a soul, why would you think Jack wouldn't feel anything?"

It takes a moment for Dean to draw the connection. He thinks Mia dumbed him the fuck down with her questions over the last half hour or whatever but he realises what she just asked him.

He doesn't have an answer to that. He doesn't know how Cas and Jack are different that way. All he knows is that he wants out. That he doesn't want to think about all of this right now. Maybe he needs to run away from it all. Maybe he just needs a break and once he takes one of those, Cas won't need a fucking shrink anymore.

"When you go home," says Mia, apparently already having understood that Dean isn't going to reply to her fucking question, "I want you to bring Jack a glass of water."

"A glass of water," he repeats, not sure if he heard her correctly.

"Yes, Dean."

"That's not fucking hard to do."

"That is good to hear," she says, "but make sure you do it."

"I'll do it," he says. "What happens after?"

"We'll see."

Dean presses his lips together for a moment before speaking. "I ain't coming back here, Doc."

"That's all right," she says. "Just let Sam know."

"When I bring Jack a glass of water?"

"Yes."

"Sure thing." Easy peasy. "So are we done here?"

"With you? Not really, but we're done for today."

He gives her a weak smile. "Think we're done with me for good."

"I sure hope so," she says.

"Okay." He gets up, looks at the curtains a last time, yellow on maroon, and he leaves the room hoping he's doing fine helping out Sam and Cas. It's hard to do this, but he's okay doing it for them. That is what matters for now.

**~o~**

Cas is on the edge of his seat at the waiting room by the time Dean is out. Dean took his own time in there and according to Sam, therapy can be really hard. Cas wants to be around for Dean in case it was just as hard for him, even though he is sure Dean must have resisted therapy in every way possible.

Dean does come out, but he looks like he's irritated and confused when he does. Cas stands up from his place immediately, making a beeline for Dean so they can speak, but Dean stops in his steps, looks at Cas, and shoves a hand into the pocket of his jeans.

"Hey," he says, voice soft.

"How are you feeling?" Cas asks him.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? Considering…"

Cas looks away. Dean seems to be haunted by whatever happened on their date because he's not letting go of it. Of that day, of Cas's revelation—of anything, really. For Cas, it had been a matter of being overwhelmed, and he did not think Dean would be so affected seeing him like that.

He gives Dean a smile. "I'm all right, Dean."

"Apparently not," Dean replies, "'cause the Empty ain't taking you now, is it?" He lets out a humourless laugh, then turns his eyes to a spot behind Cas, as if he's thinking hard about something. Behind him the door opens and the doctor pokes her head out.

"Castiel," she says, "would you like to come in next?"

He glances at Sam, who gestures for him to go in with a shake of his head. Cas takes a last look at Dean, then heads to the door. Dean continues to stand where he is when Cas shuts the door behind him, moving to the couch that he had occupied before the therapist had singled Dean out.

He folds his hands between his thighs, suddenly a little nervous. He was never privy to these emotions until he fell into the company of the Winchesters and now they seem like too much sometimes but, Cas thinks, he prefers this to how he was earlier.

"So, Castiel," Mia says, and her eyes are kind. "Tell me how you feel."

"I don't know," Cas tells her earnestly. "I am not new to emotions, but I have never felt like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like all these emotions are…" Cas tries to find the word, aware that the doctor is waiting for a reply. "There are too many."

"And?"

"And that overwhelms me. Sometimes I'm apathetic. Sometimes I feel too hard. It is difficult to say what it will be like at any given point of time."

"How long have you been around them?"

"Humans?"

"Yes."

Cas blinks. How long has been? Just a blip in his million years of existence, but the most significant blip nonetheless. "Ten years," he says, "more, actually. Not too long."

She looks down, scuffing the heel of her shoe against the carpeted floor for a moment, then pulls her attention back to Cas. "Can you tell me how else you feel?"

Cas takes a deep breath. He feels like there's a storm brewing inside of him. He feels like there's so much to tell her about how he feels, but he can't. He shrugs. "I don't know," he says.

"What don't you know?"

"I don't know… what I feel," he replies, the words coming out of him with much difficulty. Suddenly it's a lot harder to speak to her and he's not sure why, because he's always been more or less eloquent about how he feels. Even when it's someone like Dean, who's most likely to dismiss those very feelings.

"You feel?"

"Handicapped," Cas whispers. "Like I cannot help anyone."

"Sam says you've helped him and Dean more times than they can count."

"It is not like that," Cas tells her, looking up at her. "That was in the past. Right now we're losing our son again. They lost their mother. And I cannot help in any way."

His voice catches in his throat and he swallows as he remembers the other night with Dean. When he remembers he cannot afford to be happy, and that maybe his state of mind right now is just apt to keep him out of the Empty.

"You can tell me," Mia says to him softly, breaking through his thoughts. "I will listen to whatever you need to say, Castiel."

"I don't know. I can't even—"

"You cannot what?" she persists. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He does, but how can he explain it? He swallows.

"I cannot even be happy with Dean," he says. "I am not allowed to be happy."

"Do you think that means Dean can't either?"

"That is not what I want for him."

She waits for a moment, scrutinises him, before leaning forward in her chair. "How long have you been in love with Dean?" she asks him, voice kind and gentle in the way that a soft wind rocks the trees.

Cas hesitates. "Ten years," he says.

"Does Dean know?"

Dean knows that Cas has wanted to be with him. But love?

Cas shrugs. "I'm not sure, honestly."

"But you cannot be happy."

"I made a deal," says Cas, ashamed of himself now. Ashamed of growing vulnerable enough that he needs this. He is not human, and he should have been able to handle this better. "The deal lapses the moment I am happy. But luckily for me," he chuckles, "I do not think that's possible."

"Why? How do you feel?"

"Like I am burdened by the heaviness of my own mind."

She looks at him for a moment. "You might be the only patient I've had who's being this articulate about it."

"About what?"

She pauses. "Castiel, I'm sure you know that the therapy I practice and offer on a usual basis is a lot different from what I am offering you, Dean and Sam."

"You are qualified."

"Yes, I am. But I still wouldn't recommend myself as the most efficient therapist to deal with what you have."

"Do Sam and Dean have the same thing?"

"I cannot talk to you about them."

"Fair," Cas tells her. "Have I been inflicted by a human illness?"

She presses her lips together, seemingly unsure for a moment, and then says. "I think you are depressed."

**~o~**

The drive back to the bunker is quiet and uneventful. Dean glances at Cas's reflection in the rearview mirror. Cas is looking out the window, deep in thought. Dean's not sure what Cas spoke with the doctor, but the moment Cas had come out, Dean knew that she'd said something that had gotten Cas's cogwheels whirring. But then Sam had told him before, warned him not to discuss therapy sessions with Cas. So Dean reckons he won't do that. If Cas does wanna talk, though, he won't stop him either.

When they reach the bunker, Dean thinks about what the doctor said to him. About Jack. And the homework she's allotted to him, which, fuck, how does it matter if he skips it? She won't know, will she? Though Sam might tell her.

Is Sam really capable of ratting him out?

Maybe he is.

Dean shucks his jacket off as he follows Sam and Cas into the bunker. Cas makes a beeline for Jack's room and Sam's about to do the same but Dean pulls his brother back by fisting his shirt.

"Hey," he says, "Sammy."

Sam turns around. He looks tired. "Yeah, Dean."

"You think it's all right if I go get the kid some water?"

If Sam's confused he doesn't show it, although it takes him a moment to reply. "The kid?" he says, "Jack?"

"Yeah. We got any other kids here?"

Sam shrugs. "Go crazy, I guess."

Dean gives him a half-smile and makes his way to the kitchen. He grabs a glass and fills it with water from the tap, thinking about how he's going to talk to Jack right now. Maybe it doesn't have to be complicated. Maybe he doesn't have to be there too long. Fuck, he really doesn't have to do this and he has no idea why he is — just that it seems like he should be.

One visit to the therapist and he's fucking soft already. Ugh.

He realises that the glass is overflowing and turns the tap off, taking a sip of water so it doesn't slosh off the sides of the glass while he carries it to Jack's room. He reckons Jack might be asleep, and if that's so he'll be really fucking happy because it'll mean he's done what he was asked to, and hey, if Jack's asleep and _that's_ why Dean can't talk to him—not his fault, right?

He's outside Jack's room now. The door's open and Dean peeks in, heart sinking when he realises that Jack's awake. Dean stays there for a second, frozen, wondering if he should book and come back after being sure that Jack's asleep (he's cheating, he knows, but who cares). That's when Jack turns around to look at him. His brows furrow in confusion, sunken eyes lighting up just a bit at the sight of Dean.

"Dean?" he whispers.

Dean licks his lips, then clears his throat. "Uh," he says, moving forward and putting the glass on Jack's bedside table. "I just wanted to get you water."

Jack starts to sit up, struggling as his arms shake and on instinct Dean is by his side, helping him lean against his pillows and handing him the water. It's like he acted on muscle memory alone because he doesn't remember thinking that he's wanted to do it, or that he should do it. It's like his body automatically moved in response to Jack's helplessness.

He hates this.

Jack is soulless.

Jack killed Mary.

Jack is their kid.

Dean wants to run away, out of this place and to his room — maybe talk to Cas about today, because Cas definitely needs him more than Jack does. Dean doesn't want to be here. He needs to leave.

He makes to turn around but a clammy hand comes to clutch at his wrist. Dean flinches at the touch and Jack's hand is immediately off him. His eyes widen in seeming fear when Dean looks at him.

"Sorry," Jack says, "I just wanted to say thank you."

"For what?"

Jack gives him a half smile. "For the water, and for taking care of me the other day." He raises the glass to his lips and it slips, spilling water down the sides and onto Jack's blankets. Just like that Dean is by Jack's side again, his hand wrapped around Jack's, helping him hold onto the glass.

"Jeez, kid," he says, before he can think, "you're messed up."

He regrets it instantly because, yes, of course Jack is fucking messed up. But they weren't supposed to talk. That's not what Dean agreed on. And yet, seeing Jack like this, helpless and sick, ignited something inside of Dean, just the way it is when he sees Sam or Cas in any kind of distress.

He hates himself for this.

"Dean," Jack says again, and Dean only half glances at him, still holding the glass up for him and hoping not to encourage him.

"I wish for you to know something," says Jack.

Dean doesn't reply. Jack lets go of the glass and Dean puts it back on the bedside table, wondering if he should leave now, or listen to what Jack has to say.

He's still not decided on it, when Jack continues, "I might not have a soul, but I will regret it until the day I die. It was an accident but Sam told me you don't feel that way. But I hope you know that I do, and will regret it."

Dean's throat tightens. _Until the day I die_. Their kid is dying. Jack—

He's not their kid. He's not their kid. He killed Mom.

Dean nods, clears his throat again. "Okay," he says.

"Okay?"

He doesn't look at Jack. "Yeah. You uh… need anything else?"

"No, I think I'll sleep." Dean can hear the disappointment in Jack's voice. As though he were sure that Dean would forgive him.

Not happening.

He takes the glass and makes a beeline for his room, hoping to meet Cas there and talk to him about… well, about anything except Jack. Because, right, Cas needs him more right now. Not Jack.

Jack is not their kid.

**~o~**

"So how you doing?"

Dean's in Cas's room and he maintains his distance, sitting at the desk while Cas lounges in his bed because. Because that's just the way it is. They can't be together or happy.

Fuck this.

Cas nods at Dean from his place on the bed and Dean hates right now that he's so far away. He was never one of the cheesy kinda people but lately he's mostly just been thinking of kissing Cas, holding him and stripping him, fucking him until Cas is calling Dean's name out, sweaty and tangled with Dean in bed and—

He wonders how long he's felt this way without ever questioning it. The fact that he found out after… after so much crap is ridiculous, and though Dean will never admit this to Sam, he kinda feels like an idiot about it.

He takes a breath, tries to limit his mind to just speaking to Cas because _fuck_, not right now. He takes another breath, is brave enough to look at Cas, straight into his eyes. "You going to the therapist again?" he asks him.

"I…" Cas looks unsure, but he shrugs. "I think I should go, Dean. These are difficult times. I liked talking to her."

"You can talk to me and Sam."

"And further burden you?" Cas asks him. Dean feels a twinge in his heart at that. He shakes his head.

"You're not a burden, man. This is what family is supposed to be like. We talk, okay? I know I have a rule about chick-flick moments but if it's doing this to you…"

"That's beside the point," Cas tells him. "Sharing with you and Sam about how I feel is different. But you are not trained to handle some of the… other aspects of it."

"Like what?"

Cas sighs. "I would love to communicate more freely with you and Sam, Dean, but like you cannot perform surgeries on Sam or I if we were to be physically injured, this… what I'm going through, and, what I believe we all are going through… we need professional help."

Dean just stares at him. He can't process much of what Cas just said, but all he knows is that Cas's been talking to Sam way too much and—

"We are wounded," Cas interrupts Dean, pulling him out of his thoughts. "We're wounded in ways that mere first aid cannot help. I am going to continue to get professional help, and if you want to join Sam and I, we will not pass judgement about it either."

Cas's voice is comforting, soothing, but Dean can't…

Yeah, they've been through some shit. But a shrink?

"Dean," Cas calls out to him, and Dean nods, turning to look at his hands.

He clears his throat. "So you're going again," he says.

"Yes," Cas replies. "And you have my support if you want to come along."

Dean doesn't know how this happened. From an unfeeling, soulless angel to providing Sam and Dean comfort, parenting Jack, admitting to needing help with his mental health… Cas has come a long way. Things changed, and Dean didn't see it. He can't help his brother and his best friend anymore because they're hurting on a deeper level than that, and—

_Soulless_.

Something sparks in Dean. Cas is soulless. He is an angel, a supernatural being with no soul, which is why he has a place in the Empty, instead of Heaven or Hell. The Empty cannot claim him otherwise because Billie would have to reap him when he died, and unless Cas _dies_ of happiness…

Dean is on his feet the next second and Cas raises his eyebrows, mouth falling open a little when Dean approaches him, holding his hand out to Cas. "I have an idea," he says.

Cas doesn't take his hand, but is looking up at him, confusion etched into the lines on his face. "What is it?" he asks.

"About your deal," Dean replies, "I have an idea. Come on. We need Sammy for this."

"What will Sam—?"

"Cas," Dean interrupts him, trying to keep his voice even because fucking fuck, he can't believe he did not think of this before and now he's fucking exploding.

Cas opens his mouth once, shuts it, then speaks. "Dean?"

"Do you trust me?"

Dean's hand is still held out, waiting, knowing and hoping. His heart leaps when Cas takes a moment, but slowly puts his hand in Dean's, fingers interlacing as they hold on.

"Of course I trust you, Dean."

Dean smiles at him. "Then let's do this."

**~o~**

"So let me get this straight. You don't even know what we should be looking for?"

Sam is visibly tired, rubbing at his sleepy eyes as he flips through a fat, dusty book, just like the ones that Dean and Cas have. They're at the library and Dean made sure to wake Sam up the moment he realised that there might be a way, a slim chance to save Cas. He feels guilty about it because God knows, Sam needs his sleep and his rest. Dean wishes they had time, but they don't. They can't let Cas fall deeper and deeper into a pit of despair just because he's afraid of so much as smiling.

"Dean," Sam whispers, shaking Dean out of his reverie.

Dean turns to his brother. "Look," he says, "I'm sorry, man. I know I should let you sleep—"

"No," Sam says, "of course you don't need to be sorry, Dean. I wanna help, okay?"

"Okay," says Dean, scratching at his eyebrow. "What do you need?"

"Anything more to go on than what you've given me," says Sam. "We can't look for solutions in thin air, we need something solid to go on from."

Dean turns a yellowed, mildew-smelling page in his own book and thinks. "I dunno, Sammy," he says, absently running a finger over the page, "anything that will get a soul in him without us having to take his grace from him." He glances at Cas, who's watching them silently.

Dean knows that the easiest way to do this, the easiest way to ensure Cas has a soul is to take his grace away from him and though he doesn't quite understand the technicalities of how Cas gets a soul in that case, it's also not the best solution. Cas's identity, in many ways, is associated with his grace — with being an angel. Dean remembers how he was when he fell, when Metatron took his grace away, and he thinks, taking Cas's grace should only be a solution for a desperate situation. Not when they haven't even looked into the other ways of putting a soul into Cas.

Sam rubs at his forehead as he leans back in his chair. His eyes are sunken and Dean feels like an ass now for waking him up at all. Sam sighs. "Dean, I think we might need to call Billie."

"No," Dean says, "none of us needs to die for this, Sammy. What if we don't come back?"

"She's the only one with access to souls. With any power over the Empty. I don't know what else is there to do."

"Well…" Dean waves at the book in front of him. "We haven't read this stuff yet. Maybe there's still something in there that will work."

Sam nods, rubs his eyes and rests his head on his palm as he continues to browse his book. Cas has been quiet throughout Dean's conversation with Sam, so Dean looks up at his friend, only to see Cas blankly staring back at him.

Dean winks at Cas, who smiles slightly, looking away. Dean can sense that he's thinking deeply about something, but he doesn't know why Cas seems so hesitant. It would be great for them to keep Cas out of the Empty, and he hopes Cas feels the same.

He's about to make a quip at Cas, say something un-sexy to make him smile a little more, but he is interrupted by Sam clearing his throat.

"I think – I think I found something but—"

Dean is up and by Sam's side before he finishes whatever he was about to say, heart racing, and Cas hasn't moved from where he's sitting. Sam pushes the book towards Dean, rubbing his eyes again. "It's a spell that bonds souls."

Dean's heart sinks. "Sammy, Cas doesn't have a soul."

Sam puts a hand up. "He doesn't have to. His grace is good enough."

"Are you sure?"

Sam nods, turning to the previous page and tapping at the text. "Read this," he says, "whoever wrote this is talking about bonding souls, or essences. His grace counts."

Dean squints at the tiny text. _Essence_. He feels a hand on his shoulder, gentle, and turns to see Cas, who is also leaning in, reading the book. Dean just watches him read intently. Cas moves, takes his hand off Dean, and stands back.

Dean blinks up at him. "Well?"

Cas shakes his head. "I think this would work, but—"

"But?"

Cas's face falls. "Dean," he says. "I can't."

"Why the fuck not? This is perfect, Cas, if it works we could negotiate a way out of the Empty for you. Don't you get it?"

"I do get it," says Cas, "but this would require me to bond my grace with the soul of a human being."

"So? You can have mine, man, it's not such a big fucking deal." Dean tries to sound light about it. Because, no big deal, right? Cas is – Cas is his friend, for fuck's sake, and – and they've been friends for so long, and now they're kinda dating (are they?), so what's the big deal about giving a piece of his soul to someone?

Cas sighs. "Dean, I couldn't possibly ask you to do something like this for me." His eyes are desperate, lips downturned, and Dean's heart sinks further down, because does Cas not want his soul? Does Cas think Dean's not good enough, or that he will regret it later?

"Why not?" Dean whispers._ I could do anything for you_, he thinks, his thoughts moving in a desperate swirl. _I don't want you to die. I don't want you to leave us. I want you to be happy._

"Dean." Cas sighs, then turns, reaching for Dean's hands. Dean gives in, letting Cas take his hands, fingers interlacing. "I cannot ask you for something like this," Cas says at last, eyes meeting directly with Dean's. "This is not something inconsequential. Doing this would mean that you part with a piece of your soul… which resides in me."

"I know," Dean replies. "I want it."

Cas hesitates, gaze falling downwards as he takes a deep breath. "Are you sure?" he asks, voice in a whisper.

"More than anything else, man."

Cas blinks one too many times, nods, and looks away. Dean squeezes his hands. "Look," he says, "we gotta save the kid, right? So how are we gonna do that if we can't even be sure that you won't disappear because of that deal?"

"It only happens if I'm happy," Cas mutters.

"And I wanna give you all the fucking happiness in this world," Dean says, "I swear, Cas, I could—"

"Dean."

Sam's voice breaks Dean's conversation with Cas and Dean turns to his brother who's still at the table, chin resting in a palm, one eyebrow raised. Dean lets go of Cas and puts his hands on his hips. "What is it now, bitch?"

"Nothing," Sam says. "I was wondering if y'all had finished. People are dying, you know. In this very house."

Sam's words are light and carry no bite but Dean still feels a pang at how much Cas and Sam are hurting at Jack's condition. He nods. "Of course. We can – when can we do this?"

Sam gets up and stretches. "Not now," he says. "Maybe in the morning." He yawns. "I'm going to bed before you two make me puke."

Dean flips him the bird and Sam rolls his eyes, carefully noting down the page number that he'd been referring before shutting the book. He yawns again, and Dean feels another pang of guilt, remembering how he woke Sam up for this. He's glad they have Sam, though.

Sam seems to know what Dean's thinking, because he's smiling in that annoyingly soft, all-knowing way that he does. "Good night," he says, and starts to make his way back to his room.

"Good night, Sammy," Dean tells him, and he and Cas watch Sam exit the library, to the war room. Dean wishes he could let Sam know how fucking proud he is, of the progress that Sam's making, of Sam, Sam—who has suffered hell but continues to remain good. And with the pride for his little brother still warm in his heart, Dean turns his attention back to Cas.

"So," he says, "we're doing this, right?"

Cas is a little sheepish, still a little unsure, but he nods. "Are _you_ sure?"

"Of course," Dean tells him, "This ain't nothin' compared to the shit you've done for me and Sam, I uh, dude, I kinda owe you my life, you know." Dean turns to scratch at his nose, feeling his face flush a little. This is cheesy as fuck.

But it's _Cas_.

Cas looks at him, blinks, then breaks into a smile. "Dean," he says, "I've seen your life, and… quite frankly no thanks." He smiles a little more, then starts to leave the library, when Dean processes it.

"_Son of a_—who—?" He catches up with Cas, pinning him against a bookshelf and Cas laughs as Dean leans in, kissing him briefly on the lips.

"You'll pay for that," he says, tracing his hand down Cas's back so it's on his butt.

Cas stiffens, narrowing his eyes at Dean, voice in a husky whisper. "Oh, will I, now?" he says, one side of his mouth pulling into a coy half-smile, and Dean has to do everything within his control to not lose his shit then and there.

Dean pulls himself together and winks at Cas. "Goodnight, Cas," he says, smiling to himself as he leaves for his room, with Cas staring after him.


	7. Together

**7\. Together**

Sam wakes up at dawn the next day to utter and complete silence. He burrows into his blankets, hoping to close his eyes for a few minutes and wondering how come Dean wasn't back at fuck o'clock, all excited and willing to wake Sam up again.

Although, to be fair, they were actually _awake_ until fuck o'clock last night so maybe Dean and Cas are resting. Dean had already looked like he was two seconds away from jumping Cas's bones at the time that Sam had left the library (all too happily) to sleep. Not that Dean will admit to it openly. Or, maybe he will, who the fuck knows anyway? Certainly not Sam.

Those two are such idiots. Sam's never seen bigger idiots anywhere and that's saying something, considering the fact that he's come across many, many idiots before.

He finally untangles himself from his blankets and heads to the kitchen for coffee. On the way he checks Dean's room, finds it empty, and feels a little triumphant at being able to vaguely predict just how excited Dean was going to be about finally getting Cas out of his clusterfuck today. Sam just hopes that Dean's not taken all the coffee for himself.

He is, however, surprised to find the kitchen empty as well.

Maybe Dean's in the bathroom, Sam decides, as he fills up his coffee mug. There's no way Dean would make himself scarce today. But they have a bit of time, so Sam sits at the table, sipping at his hot coffee and letting his mind wander. He should check on Jack, see if he needs anything, while Dean and Cas get ready for the ritual. Sam needs to read through it again, but he's mostly memorised it so it shouldn't be too much effort.

He finishes his coffee, washes his mug and heads to Jack's room, counting off all the stuff they gotta get ready for the ritual today. Then they need to get back to working on finding the sirens who took Jack's grace. Jack might not show it but Sam can sense that he's getting worse. He can also _see_ that Jack's getting worse, considering the increase in the blood-stained Kleenex in Jack's trash can that Sam's been emptying every day. Sam knows it's getting progressively painful for Jack, and that the day is not far off when they'll be in the same state as last time, having to rush Jack to a hospital.

Sam shudders at the very image of last time, then stops at Jack's room. The door is slightly ajar and Sam takes a peek, relieved to see that Jack is sleeping soundly. His breaths are slightly ragged and Sam can hear a small wheeze at the end of each one. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like seeing Jack like this, but all things considering, Jack is still relatively all right.

_Relatively_.

Sam starts to walk back to his room, deciding to check again on Jack in a bit. The kid hasn't been outside much since he got sick, so Sam thinks it might be nice to drive him around a little once they sort Cas's thing. The prospect of going out for a while, of having one less thing to worry about is enticing to Sam and he can't help but smile a little as he gets to his room. The smile, however, is wiped off his face the moment he sees Dean sitting at the edge of his bed, face buried in his palms.

Sam stops at the doorway, hesitates, then takes a step inside. "Dean?"

Dean looks up at him. He's pale, eyes desperate as he licks his lips. "Sammy," he says, "he's gone."

"Who?" Sam asks him, even though he knows the answer. Even though his whole being burns with it, his heart sinking.

"Cas." Dean whispers. "Cas is gone."

Sam can no longer stand the devastation and helplessness on Dean's face. He takes two steps, goes forward and pulls his brother into a hug, silence following them for a long time after.

**~o~**

Cas is highly grateful to Dr Vallens for taking him in and listening to him even at an inhuman hour, and without prior appointment. He suspects she's only helping him because she feels she owes her life to the Winchesters and, by extension, to him.

It doesn't matter right now. He needs her help, she's providing it, and he will compensate in any way she deems necessary later on. He waits for her at her office. She'd said she'll get dressed and be back soon.

Cas suddenly realises that he has been bouncing his leg the entire time that he's been here, and stops. He's anxious, so anxious, but why? He's never felt this way in the entirety of his existence and these emotions are so new. He hopes Dr Vallens can throw some light on them.

She enters the room five minutes later fully dressed and courteous as she takes her place in front of Cas. He bows his head a little in greeting, then speaks. "Apologies, Dr Vallens, for this sudden visit."

She nods. "Your family has helped me, Castiel," she replies, "and if I can help you at all, I'll be glad. So," she leans forward, "how are you doing?"

"Not very good," Cas replies.

"How come?"

"I, uh..." Cas wrings his hands, looks down at his knees. "Sam and Dean have come up with a way to get me out of that deal."

"The deal with the Empty."

"Yes."

"Then that's great news," she says. "Don't you think so?"

Cas hesitates, looks back down at his knees. "I don't know, Dr Vallens."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure." He pauses to take a deep breath. "Their way of keeping me out includes a procedure. A ritual that would involve bonding my grace with a part of Dean's soul." Cas looks up at her, guilt rising in him. "He would have to let go of a piece of his soul for me."

"Is he hesitant to do that? Is this something he's willing to do only because he's under great duress?"

"Not at all, I know him to be a person who would do this even without any kind of pressure. But…" Cas sighs. He doesn't think the doctor understands what he means to say. About why this is far from ideal.

"Castiel," says Mia, drawing his attention to herself again. "If he wants to do it, I don't see why it is a problem."

"His – his consent isn't what is…" Cas sighs, running a hand down his face. Maybe he shouldn't have come. He ended up disturbing the doctor, and no one's able to understand what he means. Maybe he should go back and stop bothering Mia. Maybe this was all wrong right from the beginning.

Mia is looking at him intently from where she sits. Cas looks away, lets her think, and contemplates the best way to leave this session without looking utterly rude. That's when Mia speaks up.

"Do you feel like you're not worthy of Dean's soul?"

Cas feels a sharp pang in his chest. His eyes sting and he licks his lip before he answers. "He is too good for me. I have hurt him too many times in the past and he always forgave me. He is pure. I've never seen another soul like his, except, perhaps, his brother's. The day I saved Dean from Perdition, I knew I was doing a good thing. And protecting his soul will always be something I feel responsible for."

"All right, but have you considered that he is doing this because he is sure you're worth it? That you won't be ruining his soul by sharing it with him?" Mia pauses for a beat to reach for the jug of water before her. She pours herself a glass and Cas watches the water swirling in it, clear and pure just like Dean. Like Dean's heart and soul. He thinks of all the blood on his own hands, of how he's let Dean down and lied to him in the past.

Mia takes a sip out of her glass, lets Cas think for some time. She finally sets the glass on the table and leans back, smoothing her skirt down. "You are good too, you know. Just as good as they are. If you don't believe me, you can ask Sam and Dean themselves. You're not of lesser value just because you've made mistakes," she says. "I'm sure both of them have made their share of mistakes as well, because that's how human beings are."

"Yes, they have." Cas presses his lips together. "I am not very happy with how Dean has been behaving with Jack of late. I understand it's because of his… his grief. But…" he trails off, swallowing down his sadness and the rising anger. He doesn't know how he can love Dean so much, yet be so mad at him.

"You still feel you're not worthy of Dean's soul?"

"I'm an angel. I am not supposed to blunder the way I have."

"Castiel," she says, eyes lighting up a little. "I hope you realise that though you possess a grace, you're more human than angel."

"In what sense?"

"In the sense that you're talking to me about fighting very human feelings and emotions."

"That…" he clears his throat, "I'm a mistake, Dr Vallens. I'm not built like all angels are."

"That is true," she says, "because you're better than them. You have changed and grown. Much like a human being. And to grow, you need to make mistakes so you can learn from them."

He is not convinced. Can he really be as good as Sam or Dean? Mia is right, they have made their mistakes. Dean can be a downright asshole. Sam's been stubborn. They aren't without their flaws. But. But they're so _good_.

"You're good too," Mia repeats herself, as if she can hear his thoughts. "I can promise you that."

"Are you sure?" he whispers, trying to look away from Mia's soul-searching eyes but unable to do it.

She smiles, warm and encouraging. "Yes, I am sure. And I know that Sam and Dean are sure too."

**~o~**

Cas's phone is unreachable. He seems to have switched it off, and no matter how many times Sam calls him, he can't get through. He swallows his frustration, watches Dean mourn Cas's departure, and feels desperate to find a legitimate explanation to calm Dean down for the time being.

Of course, it's completely possible that Cas went in search of leads to help find the siren and Jack's grace but it doesn't look too promising, considering the fact that he left without telling anyone. Of course, Sam is also worried that Cas ran off to make some other stupid deal with another cosmic entity or a demon or something… but that still doesn't make it any better. Cas is gone and Dean is devastated.

"Dude could have given us a warning," says Dean, accepting a beer from Sam as he joins him in the kitchen to commiserate. "Not like we haven't all been through shit in the last few days."

"He's probably coming back, Dean," says Sam.

"Oh yeah? Why won't he take our calls then?"

"Maybe his phone's off because the battery is out," Sam rationalises. "Come on, man, it's not even been two hours since we realised he wasn't around. Plus," Sam takes a breath, "he's kinda in love with you."

Dean almost drops his beer but catches himself in time. He clears his throat. "Uh… h-how did you get to know?"

Sam rolls his eyes. Dean can honestly be so dense sometimes. He sighs. "Dude, it's been obvious for ages now. I feel like we've had this talk way too many times after the siren cursed you. But it's really not a secret and I'm kinda glad that you finally know too."

Dean blushes and looks away, and Sam nudges his brother's leg with his foot. "Hey," he says, "he'll be back. We'll do the ritual and you'll be good."

Dean nods, takes another sip of his beer and fidgets with the label. He opens his mouth, as if burning to ask Sam something, then thinks better of it. A moment later, he gives in. "Do you… does he not want my soul, Sammy?" There's so much pain there, so much desperation, that Sam feels his heart sink.

"I'm sure it's not that," he says, and he knows it's not. If there's one thing he's sure of, it's this. "He's been in awe of you and your soul since he rescued you from hell," Sam continues. He chuckles. "In fact I'd be more worried that he had some stupid, self-deprecating thought that he wasn't worthy or some shit like that."

"I'd let him have my soul in a heartbeat," Dean replies to that, involuntarily.

Sam nods, raises his beer to Dean. "I know."

"I just wish he'd come back, Sammy."

Sam can no longer take his brother's pain and longing. He rises from his place and goes to Dean's side of the table. "Hey," he says, "scoot over."

Dean obeys and Sam sits next to him, their shoulders touching. He looks at Dean, directly into his eyes. "He'll be back," he says. "I promise."

Dean nods, blinks a couple of times, and drinks his beer, when they hear the bunker door creaking open. Sam watches Dean's eyes sparkle as he springs up from his seat and rushes to the war room, Sam at his heels, and when they reach the foot of the steps, Sam is relieved and delighted to see Cas descend them, brows furrowed in confusion.

"You moron," Dean breathes, hurrying towards Cas and Sam waits where he is, arms crossed as he watches them. Dean and Cas look at each other for a moment, just a moment, and Dean's grabbing Cas by his trenchcoat, pulling him forward until their lips meet.

Sam finds himself smile as they let go, as Dean takes Cas's hands. "Don't ever do that again," he says, voice in a low growl.

Cas smiles. "All right, Dean," he says, "I'm sorry I left. I needed some… perspective."

"And you couldn't pick up your damn phone?" Dean demands of him.

"I… forgot it in my room," says Cas. "It ran out of battery, I forgot to charge it overnight, so I thought it was useless to carry it around. I was too preoccupied to realise what that would mean for you, and I'm sorry."

At that moment Sam knows where Cas had been, he just knows, and he can't help but be proud. "You went to see Mia Vallens," he says.

Cas looks at him. "Yes. I'm rather ashamed to say… that I had doubts. I didn't think I was worthy of…" his eyes wander to Dean, and Sam feels his heart warm over at the emotions there, like Dean is his entire world.

Cas takes a breath and continues. "I did not think I was worthy of your soul."

"Well, that's bullshit," Dean says, voice soft and gentle. "I'd do anything for you and Sammy. Okay? _Anything_."

Cas's eyes are sad. "What about Jack, Dean?" He asks. "Why won't you help him? Do you not love our child anymore?"

Dean doesn't reply to that. He lets go of Cas, then scratches at his forehead. "You, uh… you can come get me once you're ready for the ritual." He comes down the stairs, nods at Sam. "Let me know if you need help getting the ingredients."

Before Sam can reply Dean is gone, leaving silence between them.

**~o~**

Dean goes straight to Jack's room, mind buzzing with thoughts. He doesn't take water this time. This is not damned homework. He needs to talk to Jack, to ask him why he makes Cas think that Dean doesn't care. Because of course Dean cares. Of fucking course he cares.

He just wishes Mom weren't dead. And that Jack hadn't killed her.

When he gets to Jack's room he finds the door open with the kid sitting up on his bed and holding on to an oxygen mask, face pale as he breathes deeply, eyes closed. Dean hesitates at the doorway, licks his lip, and enters the room.

Jack opens his eyes, blinks at Dean, and takes another deep breath. He takes the mask off. "Hey," he says.

"Hey," Dean replies, sitting on a stool next to the bed. "You shouldn't be taking that off," he says, waving at the mask.

"It's—" Jack coughs into his fist, then looks up at Dean, and smiles. "It's fine. How are you?"

"I'm okay," says Dean. "You?"

Jack puts the mask back on, takes a breath, and takes it off again. "I'm not doing that great, Dean, but it makes me happy that you came."

"Why did you tell Cas that I don't care?" Dean asks him, going straight for it.

Jack stares back at him, confused. "What?"

"You told Cas I don't care. For you. I—" Dean sighs. "Look, I do care, okay, but you killed my mom and… I can't get over that."

"I know," says Jack. "I never expected you to. And I'm sorry."

Dean's heart sinks at the innocence in his eyes. He hates this, he hates that Jack killed Mom and still looks so innocent. He hates that he still feels for Jack.

He wishes he could do better.

"I, uh…" Dean presses his lips together, then releases them to look down at his jeans. "Look. Jack, what you did—"

"I regret it, Dean, and I always will—"

"Yes, I know." Dean takes a breath. "I'll try to forgive you. Because… because Sam and Cas, they… they uh, want me to, and – and…" his voice catches in his throat. "_She'd_ want it too."

Jack just stares at him, blinks in disbelief, then nods. "Thank you," he whispers.

Dean nods, gets up and leaves the room before the tears start to crowd his eyes.

**~o~  
**

When Sam finally finds Dean, he's in his room, at the edge of his bed, with his back to the door, which is ajar. Sam pauses at the door, waits for a moment before knocking.

Dean stiffens and Sam waits there, but his brother deflates. "Sammy, leave me alone," he says.

Sam doesn't have time to wonder how Dean knows it's him even with his back turned. He takes a step in, disobeying his brother, and sticks his hands into his pockets. "We got the ingredients ready," he says. "Cas is ready too, so we can do the spell if you—"

"Okay," Dean breathes. "Just… I need a minute."

It's at that point that Sam realises that Dean's voice is thick and heavy. Almost as if…

Alarmed, he rushes to his brother's side, kicking himself mentally when he realises that he hadn't noticed the shake of Dean's shoulders before. He doesn't know how to react. He hadn't expected this… even with all the shit that happened today.

"Dean," he says, "Dean, hey—"

His brother turns away, hands going up to wipe his face. "Sammy, you go s-set that stuff up, I'm – I'm coming, I…" he swallows, not completing his sentence, sniffs, and his shoulders shake again.

Sam's heart shatters, shards of heartbreak piercing at his chest. He should have known… known that it would get Dean too, sooner or later. He should have been firmer with Dean about seeing Mia Vallens… done something about this clusterfuck, but the only person he helped was himself.

Sam bites his lip. "Do you want me to call Cas?"

"N-No. I just…" Dean pauses, takes a shaky breath. "I'm okay."

"Clearly. And what is it like when you're not okay?" Sam's unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice and he hates himself for a moment because this isn't what Dean needs now. What he doesn't expect, though, is for Dean to suddenly chuckle.

"You're such a bitch," he says. He stops there, and Sam knows it's time to leave. He starts to walk away, when Dean speaks again.

"I miss her, man," he says. "I wish she hadn't fucking died. My whole life… our whole life was about her and we got her back… but she's gone."

There's a lump in Sam's throat as he turns to his brother. "I know," he whispers. "I feel the same."

"Maybe that's – that's why I can't forgive the kid," Dean continues. "I think… had it been anyone else… but you or Cas or Mom… I just…"

Sam nods though Dean can't see him, and walks right back to his brother. "Can I sit down?" he asks him. Dean nods, and Sam takes a seat, mattress dipping under his weight.

"He didn't do it on purpose, Dean," he says. "He's just a child."

Dean looks at Sam, eyes wet and red-rimmed, shaking his head. "He doesn't regret it, Sammy."

"Who said so?"

"He…" Dean shrugs. "He doesn't have a soul, man. I think you know better than me what that must feel like."

"He's different from me," says Sam. "He's better."

"No, you—"

Sam holds up a hand, stopping Dean there. "Besides," he continues, "Cas doesn't have a soul either."

"So?"

Sam looks directly at his brother. "You tell me about _one_ mistake that Cas made that he did not regret." He presses his lips together. "Maybe… maybe if you forgive Jack, you can finally move on, you know? Maybe it's time."

Dean sniffs and wipes at his nose. "I know."

"Then?"

"I told him I'd try forgiving him. And… I'll help take care of him too. For him and Mom." Dean swallows, looks at Sam. "He's still my kid too, Sammy, and I could never forget that."

**~o~  
**

"You should hold hands."

"Shut up, Sammy."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. _This_ is where you draw the line. As if I haven't seen you and Cas make out before."

"And how does that make you feel, Sammy?" Dean chuckles, putting a palm over Sam's eyes as he leans in to kiss Cas.

Sam pushes Dean's hand away and huffs. "I will kill you if you make this about therapy, Dean. Just hold his fucking hands so I can cast the spell now."

Dean rolls his eyes and takes Cas's hands as Sam flips through the book, finding his page. He has Dean's and Cas's blood in two vials but Dean's arm barely stings from the cut because they're doing this and they can save Cas and this is it.

He's excited, barely able to contain it even as Sam starts to chant in Latin, adding their blood to a crucible before him, then sprinkling herbs and powdered animal parts that Dean doesn't want to think about. Cas's hands are shaking in Dean's and Dean squeezes them, trying to comfort Cas as Sam continues to chant.

The ritual lasts five minutes, after which Sam throws a flaming match into his mixture and stops chanting. The match sizzles off and Dean and Cas look at it expectantly, with Sam rubbing his palms together, nervous and waiting.

Nothing happens.

They wait for two minutes, then five, then fifteen, and nothing changes. Dean's hands are sweaty and he lets Cas go, trying to hide the disappointment when he turns to Sam. "Well," he says, "that was a fail." He's trying to find something to make the moment lighter when he feels something in his chest.

"Whoa." Dean clutches his chest and Sam takes a step forward.

"Dean?"

"I'm – I'm okay, just—" His chest is suddenly warm and heavy and he scrabbles for Cas's hand, clutching him tightly. Something is happening.

It burns, it — _fuck _— Dean sees Sam's jaw drop just before it gets unbearable, but it's gone and there's light, a small circle of light coming out of his chest. Cas's hand grows warm in his, vibrating with what seems like energy as the ball of light circles them, twice, thrice, before charging right into Cas's chest. The lights in the room flicker and go off, plunging them into darkness.

Dean stands there, holding Cas's hand, making out his silhouette, listening to their breaths in the silence.

Then there is a burst of light. From Cas, from around Cas, dancing, bright, and beautiful. Sam looks away to cover his eyes and Dean's about to do the same, but he feels Cas's hand, turning him around so he can look.

Cas's eyes are bright, the blue almost electric, sending off luminous waves of energy and Dean can see a shadow behind him, his wings slowly coming up, spreading out, large and majestic.

And, fuck, they're _gorgeous_.

Dean blinks.

Cas is fucking _hot_. And… so _beautiful_. And fuck, fuck, fucking fuck, Cas isn't the only one who's in love with Dean, because Dean is head-over-heels, crazy-ass in love with this nerdy dude and…

He can't believe he's just realising this.

He loves Cas, and he wants to jump and dance and scream it out to the whole world and he doesn't know why he couldn't admit to himself. Why everything was so hard until now. Because… this is so easy. There's no question here.

Dean is in love with Cas and that's all he can think of.

Cas smiles at him and damn, because he didn't look this sexy even when Dean was under the siren's spell. He comes forward, taking Dean's other hand and squeezing it. "Thank you, Dean," he says, and Dean can feel the happiness, the joy radiating out of him.

"You made me whole," says Cas. "Thank you."

Dean chuckles. "I can… I can make you whole in other ways, Cas." He stops there, awkward, because that was stupid, and maybe he should add finger guns, he's not so sure. Should he.

Cas laughs, his voice echoing around the library. "Come on," he says, so strong and vibrant, as he leads Dean to his room. Behind them, Sam's still standing with his eyes covered but when the light dies out, Dean watches him take his hand off his eyes, and smirk when he realises where Dean and Cas are headed to.

Pesky little brother, Dean thinks. So fucking pesky.

**~o~**

Cas pushes Dean onto his bed and gets stripping. Dean toes his shoes off, crawls back and chuckles as Cas shucks his trenchcoat away. "I want a show, Cas," he says.

Cas is working on his shirt buttons when he hears Dean. He looks up, eyebrows raised. "Really?"

"Really."

A smirk plays on Cas's lips. "You asked for it," he says. He swings his hips, undoing each button, and Dean laughs.

"Come here, you!"

"You wanted a show," Cas gets rid of the shirt and gets onto the bed, crawling over to Dean, "you'll get one." He connects lips with Dean and Dean puts his fingers in Cas's hair, pulling him down. Cas gasps and Dean traces fingers down Cas's bare shoulders and back, getting to his trousers so he can get his fingers in, past Cas's waistband.

Cas jerks up at Dean's hands on his ass, takes revenge by kissing Dean deeper, running his tongue over the borders of his mouth. Dean gasps, lets Cas kiss his jaw, neck, ear, sighing with each kiss, holding Cas tighter. He's never wanted Cas more. Not even when they were blind and choking up cilantro. He loves Cas so much. So much.

"I love you, Cas," he whispers, then holding Cas tighter, "fuck me."

"Of course, Dean," Cas mutters and Dean shuts his eyes, letting Cas take him over, letting the warmth and happiness wash over him once and for all as they become one, body, mind and soul.

It's a few hours later that Dean is cuddled in Cas's arms, comfortably naked underneath their blanket, when he hears pounding footsteps outside of his door. He opens his eyes just as someone knocks, and digs his boxers off the floor to put them on. "Come in," he says, hiding a yawn behind the back of his palm.

Cas is up too, holding the blankets around him. Dean rubs his eyes as Sam enters the room, hair askew and face red, huffing for breath. "It's Jack," he says, and Dean can make out that he's at breaking point so he gets up to go to his brother.

"What happened, Sammy?" he asks.

"Dean." Sam runs a shaking hand through his hair, eyes wet. "Jack had a seizure and passed out. I think he needs the hospital."


	8. The Burial

**8\. The Burial**

This is the worst form of déjà vu. Sam can't believe they're back here, in the hospital, with Jack dying again. He hates hospitals with a passion. They're too white, they have uncomfortable chairs and the smell of disinfectant never seems to leave your senses.

But they have nowhere else to go because Jack collapsed, just like last time, and now Sam knows their clock is ticking down, way faster than he'd like it to.

What's surprised Sam, however, is that Dean is the one hounding the nurses' station right now for news on Jack, who's been in a treatment room for over an _hour_ now, hooked up to a number of machines, pale, and wavering in an out of consciousness. Dying.

Sam didn't expect that. He's seen Dean trying to make more of an effort to actually talk to the kid. Cas told him about that time when Dean helped Jack when he'd passed out, too. Dean is trying, no doubt, and maybe at the end of this all, it will actually get better.

Until then, they can only hope.

Sam's sat on one of the chairs closest to the entry of the waiting room, unable to sit by Jack's side as his son slowly withers away, while he watches Cas lay a placating hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean and Cas.

If Sam weren't so distraught right now, he'd probably smile. He's glad his brother and best friend have one another, that they finally stopped pining after each other just talked, and now, hell, they share a soul. Sam doesn't know if the soul thing worked because they have no way to prove that Cas is happy, seeing as how Jack is doing, but if these two had gone on any longer, Sam would have probably driven the Impala off a cliff in sheer frustration.

Metaphorically, of course. Dean would kill him if he drove the Impala off an actual cliff.

He's pulled out of his weird and borderline delirious line of thinking when Dean huffs angrily under his breath, flopping down onto the chair next to Sam while Cas opts to sit down on the small coffee table set in the centre of the room.

"They're all fucking useless," Dean snarls. "This isn't going to help him."

"I know, Dean. But he'll... he'll die faster at the bunker than here," Sam chokes out. "We need time, every little second we can get."

"To do what? The kid is dying and we are nowhere close to tracking down the fucker that's stolen his grace," Dean snaps. "You've hacked and traced every damn camera near that warehouse where Cas found Jack. Hell, the only thing we do know, and even that's on a hunch, is that the siren's never left Lebanon. How the hell are we going to search all of Lebanon for one siren, Sam?"

Sam trembles as he hunches over, hands clutching at his hair. He's thinking every single thing Dean's voicing. He wishes he had answers, oh how he wishes he knew what to do. He's always been the one with the plan, and right now, he has nada, zip, _nothing._

"I don't know. Dean, I don't... fuck," Sam grits his teeth as feels a familiar prickle beneath his eyelids. Now's not the time for self-pity and tears. "I can't lose him," he whispers.

"You're not alone in that desire, Sam," Cas says, reaching out a hand to rest on Sam's shoulder.

Before Sam can respond, however, a shrill scream rings through the air. He's on his feet at once, Dean and Cas with him, because the screaming was not from the monitor. It's a woman, and it's from the vicinity of Jack's room.

Sam's the first one to sprint out of the waiting room, Dean and Cas hot on his heels. As they round the corner to Jack's room, Sam's heart jumps into his throat. A group of nurses and doctors are huddled around an inconsolable nurse who is pointing at the open door with an expression of unbridled grief and terror.

Sam warily looks into the room and his stomach drops. The room is in shambles, treatment trays flung across to the far end of the room, instruments lying scattered all over the white linoleum. It looks like someone had a brawl in the room.

A man lies face down, motionless, on the floor at the foot of the bed, his white coat stained scarlet, a silver scalpel sticking out the back of his neck.

That's not what alarms Sam though.

Jack's bed is empty. He's nowhere to be seen.

**~o~**

The first thing that Jack sees is the open sky, blue and pleasant. The serenity only lasts for a second, however as the rest of his body screams in agony. It's too much. There's a rhythmic, incessant pounding within his head, his ears ring, his body feels like it's on fire yet being submerged in icy water both at the same time.

His chest feels tight and it's hard to breathe and even he can hear how loud and rattling his breathing is.

He coughs once, twice and then struggles to turn over onto his side as he feels a familiar metallic tang assault the back of his throat. He spits out the red, a thin line of dribble connecting the mushy puddle of blood next to him to his mouth.

It's then that he realizes he's lying on dirt.

Dirt?

Jack may have a fever, and maybe a migraine, but he knows that hospital floors aren't supposed to be covered in dirt. He knows for a fact he was at a hospital just now.

Wasn't he?

"How are you still not dead, kid?" says an unfamiliar voice from somewhere near his head that makes him flinch violently. "Fine by me. You'll be dead soon enough, anyway. I'll give you credit though. You put up a hell of a fight back in the hospital for someone who was hooked up to so many machines."

Fight?

_Shit_.

The remaining siren. His grace. Everything Sam had explained to him after he'd come back from killing the first one. It all hits him at once.

He remembered arms tugging roughly at his IV lines and he'd opened his eyes to stare into dark, unfamiliar black ones. He'd thought it was the nurse, but then his eyes had fallen onto the steel glass set on the table at the end of his bed to see a pale humanoid reflection in place of the man. A siren.

Jack had fought as hard as he could, unable in his state to call out for Sam or Dean or Cas. Now… he's here.

"They'll find you," Jack gasps, turning his attention to the siren as he struggles to get to his feet, only to cry out in pain as the siren almost lazily kicks at his torso. It's then that Jack notices the shovel and the mound of dirt next to the siren.

"Let them," says the siren. "I don't care about me anymore. You see, I was gonna leave you alone until Sam Winchester decided to kill my partner. I knew I had to get payback. Besides, when will they have time to hunt me down, when they're gonna be so busy looking for you?"

Jack lets out a terrified yelp as the siren bends over and shoves him, who free falls for a second before hitting hard wood.

"I sincerely hope you're not claustrophobic," says the siren, a crooked smile twisting his lips before he slams the lid shut.

It's then that Jack realizes he's in a coffin and his hands are knocking on the wood the next moment because he can't, _he can't_. "Please!" Jack screams out, hoarse. "Don't do this, please!"

There are muffled thumps above the lid, the sound of dirt hitting the coffin which creaks under the weight, and it is with an awful sense of dread that Jack finally realizes what kind of dire situation he's been put in.

He's being buried. Alive.

Panic sets in as he whimpers, tears freely flowing down the sides of his face. He wants out, he wants out, he wants out. He can't do this. He can't die like this. But maybe he deserves it, maybe this is how he should be punished for hurting his family like he did.

The thumping gets duller and duller until there's just utter silence and darkness.

He can't even see his own hands in front of his face.

Jack heaves one breath after another. He knows he's hyperventilating. He knows he should be preserving oxygen, but he can't. He doesn't like this. This isn't fun. He's already feeling light-headed and every part of him aches and he just wants to go home.

He wants Sam, and Cas, and Dean.

He wants his family.

Only he doesn't know if they'll even realize he's here.

A terrified scream rips out of his throat as the sides of his vision start to turn black.

"SAM!"

**~o~**

The door to the bunker slams open and Sam is numb as he follows Dean and Cas down the stairs. He's failed, he's failed Jack miserably. The scene at the hospital makes it so clear that Jack was taken by someone and at this moment in time, they have only one suspect and it's the siren.

The siren that they've failed to track down.

They'd been dead silent as Dean had all but sped to the bunker. Sam watches with a frown as Dean runs into the library to quickly search through the shelves before pulling out what Sam recognizes as a spell book.

"Cas, that spell you used to track down Gadreel with the leftover grace from Sam, it's this one, right?" Dean asks, shoving the book towards Cas.

Cas studies the page for a minute before nodding. "Yes, but I don't understand why that's our concern right now, Dean."

"The siren has Jack's grace, who got it from Michael, who possessed me," Dean says.

"But that—fuck," Sam curses, immediately understanding what Dean's implying. "No, no way, I'm not letting you do that."

"Sam, this is not up for negotiation. A piece of Michael, including his grace will be in me and you know it. It's the only way we can find Jack."

"Extracting the grace could kill you!" Sam practically yells, trembling. "It would have killed me if Cas hadn't stopped. Besides, the grace he took from me wasn't enough to track him."

"Sam, you were still under the effect of the trials," Cas interjects. "Had you been healthy, extracting that grace, while painful and sometimes fatal under inexperienced hands, would have worked."

"Sammy, this is our son. Let me do this, please. I know it's taken me a hot second to realize it but I can't lose him either. You, Cas and Jack, you're all I have left."

_This is our son._ If nothing, it's that particular statement from Dean's mouth that seals Sam's decision for him. He takes a deep breath. They have to do this objectively or none of them will get out of this alive.

"Okay," says Sam, "Cas, get the ingredients, I'll get the syringe."

In barely five minutes, they're all set up and Dean sits at the chair in the war room, his neck tilted to one side. Sam shakily hands Castiel the syringe, who then looks to Dean with apologetic eyes.

"This will hurt."

Dean nods and grits his teeth but doesn't say a word as he rests his arms onto the wooden armrests.

"Sam, hold his head still."

Sam does as he's told and watches helplessly as Cas plunges the syringe into the meat of Dean's neck. Dean's hands immediately white-knuckle the armrests. His head jerks within Sam's grasp. Sam's expecting it, however, and just whispers silent apologies as Dean's breathing becomes laboured, eyes shut tight.

"The needle is in. I'm now starting the extraction. It might be a little uncomfortable," Cas says and starts pulling backwards at the handle.

Dean jerks more violently and Sam almost loses his grip. His heart shatters as Dean lets out a guttural cry.

"Almost done, almost done," Cas whispers.

It feels like an eternity until Dean finally sags under Sam's grip as Castiel pulls out the syringe now filled with a white, iridescent light.

"You got it all?" he asks weakly, his hands holding onto Sam's to keep himself upright on the chair.

Castiel nods. "Yes."

"Good," Dean says, leaning his head backwards, trying to catch his breath.

They watch as Castiel mixes the ingredients and starts chanting in Enochian. At the end of the spell, he adds in the grace and waits.

"It's showing a location!" Cas exclaims. "They are at—"

Sam doesn't get to hear the end of the sentence as a piercing pain shoots through his skull, flashes of unfamiliar images going through his mind.

_Sam!_

It's dark and he can't breathe and he's dying.

_Sam!_

Sam takes a breath, struggles to open his eyes. "C-Cas," he says, and sways, clutching onto the table. "I know—"

_Sam._

Sam gasps. "I know where Jack is."

_Sam._

Jacks voice calling out his name is the last thing Sam hears, before he slumps bonelessly to the floor.

**~o~**

_Sam!_

Sam's trying to get there, to Jack, but he's struggling to breathe and he can't, and he's suffocating.

_Sam_

His head. Oh, his head. God, this is fucking horrible and Jack is—

He's in a dark box. His hands scrabble at the top, knocking against wood as he runs out of breath.

_Sam!_

Sam opens his eyes, head pounding, feeling something wet trickle out of his nose. Dean and Cas are leaning over him, looks of concern on their faces, but Sam sits up despite their protests. He takes a gulp of air and wipes the blood off his upper lip and mouth.

"I know where Jack is," he huffs.

"Yeah, we found the siren," Dean says, pointing to a map. "He's taken Jack to—"

"No," Sam interrupts him. "I mean, yes, that's where the siren is, too, but Jack…" Oh God.

"What about him?"

"He's – he's in a coffin." Sam is nauseous even as he says it. "He's been buried alive."

**~o~**

The Impala skids to a halt and Dean puts her into park as he opens his door. Sam bursts out of the passenger side. It should have taken an hour to get here but Dean got them here in thirty minutes. Cas comes out the back of the car and they go, kicking up dust and dry sand, desperate as they run.

"This is the warehouse where I found him," Cas informs them as they pass it, but Jack isn't there so Sam continues on, leading his brother and best friend to their kid.

Sam's head pounds and his stomach threatens to revolt but he keeps going, wiping off trickles of blood that ooze out of his nose. Cas couldn't heal him, and it's been so long since Sam's had a psychic headache that he'd almost forgotten how it felt.

_Sam._

He stops. He can see it. He can see freshly dug earth, and he knows. He just _knows_.

Sam points a finger at the spot. "Here," he says, voice trembling. "He's here."

Dean gives Sam a spade — when did he even take that out of the car? — and Cas stands in position as the three of them start to dig.

_Sam._

"I'm here," Sam whispers. "I'm here, Jack."

It takes extra effort for Sam to dig with his headache but he does his best, and with Dean and Cas, they go as quickly as they can. Cas will kick this siren's ass. He will fucking kill that son of a bitch and—

_Sam._

He digs harder and faster.

**~o~**

Sam's in bad shape, and Dean can see it all too clearly. His heart races as he keeps digging, watching his brother tremble. Cas, even with his super-angel mojo, isn't going too much faster than either Sam or Dean, so Dean's heart leaps up to his throat the moment he feels his spade hit wood. He looks at his brother, at Sam miserably wiping more blood off his face.

"I got it, Sammy," he says.

Sam's eyes light up. He rushes to Dean's side, digging vigorously, their spades scraping against wood. Dean raps at the wood with his, and they can hear a dull, weak knock back.

"Jack," Dean calls out, "can you hear me? Knock if you can."

There's a moment of silence, a moment too long, and Dean is worried he might have passed out and is about to break the coffin—

Jack knocks once. It's weak and faint, but it's there.

Dean smiles. "Atta boy. I'm gonna break this, okay? Just take care that you don't get hurt any worse."

Jack knocks again, and Dean glances at Sam and Cas, who crouch beside him to start breaking the coffin. It takes two or three tries but then they make a hole and Dean jumps in, ripping it off with his own hands, letting the blood flow out of his fingers until he sees Jack. Until he reaches for his son and pulls him out, all of him, holding Jack to himself, cupping his neck as Jack trembles and sobs into Dean's shoulder.

"Hey," Dean says, rubbing his back. "You're all right, I got you."

Jack cries harder, wheezing with impending respiratory distress, and Dean doesn't know what to do. He runs a hand through Jack's hair and kisses his head. "We're gonna kick that siren's ass, huh? Get your grace back in no time. Come on."

He lifts Jack and stands up. Cas is crouching at the edge of the grave to take him and when he does, Dean climbs back out, only to have Jack scrabbling back for him again.

"Okay," says Dean, holding him, feeling Jack's tears wet his shirt as Sam and Cas crouch on either side of him, unsure of what to do. Jack's still sobbing, whispering something between hitching breaths, and Dean has to lean closer to listen to him.

"I'm sorry," Jack says, hiccupping, then struggling for a breath. "I'm sorry. I k-killed… he-her. I'mm… s-sorry, Dean-nn."

Dean feels his own eyes sting as he looks up at Sam. Sam, who's tired, bloodied, and fighting his own tears off. Dean holds Jack tighter, afraid that he'll hurt his son. "You don't have to be sorry," he says, keeping his voice as gentle as he can, running a hand down Jack's back. Kid's filthy, trembling and inconsolable, and Dean's never felt such pain before.

Jack shakes his head vigorously and coughs. "Y-you. You… h-hate me."

"No I don't," Dean says, remembering again that Jack's a child, a fucking overgrown toddler. He rubs the back of Jack's head. "And you know what? I forgive you, okay?"

Jack sniffles. "O-Okay."

Dean holds him for a moment more, then gently peels Jack off him, clutching his shoulder so he can look into Jack's eyes.

"Hey," he says, "I'm gonna go get the siren now, do you know where he is?"

Jack lets a tear fall and gestures to the warehouse behind them. "In there," he says.

"Okay," says Dean. "I need your blood to kill him. Do you think you can do that? Give me your blood?"

Jack nods, lips trembling, and Dean looks over at Cas. "You got the knife?"

"Yes, Dean," says Cas as he comes forward with the bronze knife. Jack holds on to Dean as Cas, taking a deep breath, runs the knife over Jack's skin. Jack flinches, but doesn't scream or cry, though his eyes are still leaking tears. Dean takes it from Cas and hands Jack over to his boyfriend.

"Take care of them, okay?" he says, nodding at Jack and his bloodied brother. "I'll be back soon."

Cas sits cross-legged and pulls Jack into his arms, only short of taking him into his lap as he nods. "Be careful, Dean," he says.

Dean leans over to kiss Cas's lips and smiles at him. "Always."

**~o~**

It'd almost be poetic how things came full circle if it hadn't involved Jack and Cas and not to mention, himself, Dean thinks as he steadily makes his way to the warehouse in front of him. The very warehouse that Jack had been attacked in.

Part of Dean thinks they should have figured it out sooner, but bygones are bygones. Right now, all that matters is getting Jack's grace back.

In one hand, he twirls the bronze dagger that's covered in Jack's blood while the other reaches for the door in front of him as he reaches his destination.

He hesitates. The siren had every opportunity to run, yet Dean knew it was in here. Not that he's complaining, but Dean knows he needs to keep his guard up.

He quietly slips in, arms out in a defensive stance as he lets the door close slowly behind him.

"Dean Winchester," says a deep voice directly behind him.

Dean spins around, backtracking a few steps as a man steps out from behind one of the cargo containers. He's about half a foot shorter than Dean with dark, piercing black eyes and around his neck rests a vial filled with what Dean knows is Jack's grace. The light from the vial casts an eerie look over the siren's face.

"Bitch," Dean counters.

"It's Brendan, actually," says the siren as he slowly walks towards Dean.

"Brendan, bitch, what's the difference, really?" Dean says as he walks backwards, not wanting to be caught off guard.

"I was actually kind of hoping for Sam to turn up, but you'll do just fine. Sam kills my partner, I kill his precious son, and now his brother."

Dean clenches his jaw, exhaling harshly through his nose. He can't let his anger get the best of him.

"Why take his grace if you were gonna kill him anyway?" Dean asks, stalling, trying to figure out a way to get that vial off of the douchebag's neck.

"If Sam hadn't killed Matt, maybe, just maybe I'd have left your pathetic excuse for a Nephilim out of it," snarls Brendan.

"You still haven't answered my question," Dean says. He realizes grimly that he's just going to have to fight his way out of this, to get to Jack's grace. He just hopes and hopes that he's not too late.

"Michael," replies Brendan and Dean stills, caught off guard.

It's his hesitation that costs him as the siren rushes up into his space, grabs Dean by the collar and flings him across the expanse of the warehouse. Dean grunts as he's slammed onto something metal before he falls to the floor, the bronze dagger still clutched in his grip.

"You see, Michael was onto something with the whole mixing grace and monsters thing. But you Winchesters always have to spoil the fun. Now the rest of us are left without the benefits, without the power we rightfully deserve. So I took it upon myself to continue his work."

Dean scoffs as he gets to his feet. "How's that working out for you? I see you still have the grace, which obviously means you don't know shit about how Michael did what he did."

Dean's knows he's struck a nerve when the siren stiffens, hands twitching towards the vial.

This time he expects it, but it's still monster versus human. As Brendan snarls and rushes towards him, Dean raises his dagger only to be slammed again into the metal container behind him, with one of the siren's arms wrapped around his throat, while the other wrestles the dagger out of Dean's grip.

Dean watches helplessly, his heart hammering as the dagger is tossed aside. A sharp blow lands across his jaw and he feels his lip split open as his head jerks to the side with the force of the punch. He's lifted off his feet, sliding upwards against the container as the siren holds him up by the neck. Dean thrashes, his feet scrabbling for surface as his airway cuts off, his free hand trying desperately to pry at the fingers wrapped around his throat.

"That's none of your concern, Dean-o. Tell me, how's Jack doing?"

It's then that something inside Dean snaps. _Fuck_ this asshole. He reaches out with his free hand, digging his fingers into the siren's eyes who screams in pain, immediately letting go of Dean.

Dean pushes him away, gathering himself. Every bit of suffering they've faced over the last few weeks' rush to the forefront of his mind as he lands the first punch across Brendan's jaw.

He sees Cas's ashen face, filled with pain as he swiftly dodges the counter by Brendan, sending an elbow into the siren's midriff, causing him to bend over. He immediately follows it by slamming the siren's face into his knee, snapping it back up.

He sees Sam's exhaustion, how his brother was barely holding on by a thread, as he ducks a weak punch by Brendan and circles around, landing a roundhouse kick right onto Brendan's torso, sending him sprawling to the floor.

As Dean straddles the siren, he sees Jack and his face right after they'd pulled him out of the coffin.

This fucker had the balls to bury a two-year-old.

Alive.

Dean sees red as he rains blow upon blow, marring every bit of skin he can see. He _gets _it now, why people say they'd do anything for their kid.

Jack is his kid, and Dean can't believe how much he allowed his son to suffer before he finally got his head on straight. This is the kid that saved their lives multiple times, the kid he raised, the kid that was way kinder to him than he deserved, after how Dean had treated him.

Dean lands his strikes with unbridled yet silent fury. The choked whimpers and moans of pain that escape Brendan's lips fall onto deaf ears. Dean's knuckles are steadily coated with scarlet, as he feels the crunch of broken bone and teeth under his hands, bruises turning into open wounds. He knows this won't kill the siren. But he doesn't care. The siren's hands scratch weakly against Dean's torso and thighs in a vain effort to stop him.

This monster is the reason for Jack's suffering.

That's all the reason Dean needs.

He doesn't know how long it's been until he realizes that the pained groans have stopped, and the only sound that fills the empty warehouse now is Dean's own laboured breathing.

The siren is out cold.

Dean mechanically gets to his feet, his hands trembling as he heads over to the discarded bronze dagger and picks it up.

He makes his way back to the unconscious siren and stabs it directly into the heart, twisting it with a sort of vindictive pleasure before wrenching it out. Brendan barely twitches, but Dean knows he's finally dead.

He yanks the vial filled with Jack's grace from around the dead siren's neck and doesn't spare a backward glance as he makes his way out of the warehouse.

He stumbles to a stop as he almost walks right into Sam, who's skidded to a stop just outside the door.

He doesn't miss the look of alarm and concern on Sam's face as Sam takes in Dean's appearance. However, he doesn't say anything and just nods, a look of silent understanding on his face.

Dean is grateful as he holds up the vial.

"Here," he says as he hands it off to Sam. "Let's go take care of our kid."

**~o~**

"Does your head still hurt?"

Sam starts at Jack's voice and looks up from leaning against the window. "Yeah," he says. "Sound hurts too."

"Sorry," Jack whispers. Just like Cas, he hadn't been able to heal Sam either. Looked like Sam's psychic headaches were at another level, and that they'd just have to run their course. So Dean stuffed Sam full of pain meds and hoped it would go away. It didn't work and now Sam's drugged and still in pain.

That's not really a problem for them right now, compared to the shit that the last few weeks brought to them. Jack's better now, hale and hearty, and that's all Sam cares about. Well, that and the fact that his idiot brother finally seems to have admitted to his feelings for Cas.

They're invincible now. Jack is good and so is Cas. The Empty cannot drag Cas back anymore because he's got a part of Dean in him, and Dean isn't part of the deal.

Just like _Merchant of Venice_, though definitely less antisemitic.

Sam chuckles. "Dean," he says, rubbing his throbbing head against the cool glass of the window. "Cas is Antonio. And you're Bassanio."

"Like _Merchant of Venice_?" Dean asks him.

"Yeah. They were boyfriends. You know that, right?"

"Wasn't Bassanio married to that other chick?"

Sam shrugs. "Maybe he was in denial, just like you."

He can see Dean's face in the rear-view mirror, and he'd got one eyebrow raised. "Dude," he says, "is that headache scrambling your brain?"

"Maybe," Sam snorts. "But at least Cas isn't my Horcrux."

Dean sighs. "Go to sleep, Sammy. We'll discuss this when you're not loopy."

"I'm not loopy now," says Sam. "I'm just…"

He doesn't know what he is, but Dean's idea of going back to sleep definitely sounds good. Sam shuts his eyes and feels Jack rest his head on his lap. He breaths through the migraine and pays attention to the soothing purr of the Impala, to Dean and Cas's whispered conversation, and to Jack's easy, deep breaths.

They're good. They're all good for now.


	9. Epilogue: The First Coriander

**Epilogue: The First Coriander**

Sam wants to imprint this into his memory for life, he thinks when he walks into the kitchen to see Dean standing next to Jack, both wearing aprons. Dean stirs something in a pot while explaining something to Jack who has the most intense look of concentration on his face. Cas sits at the island on a stool, a look of pure love and fondness on his face as he watches the two of them work.

Sam's heart flutters as he even sees the kid holding a small notebook in his hands, his tiny scrawl already visible on its pages. Sam watches them like that, for a minute, before clearing his throat.

"Hey, Voldemort, I got the supplies," Sam calls out setting two bags of groceries onto the counter.

When Dean flips Sam the bird, it's Cas who gasps in shock. "Dean! Not in front of Jack."

While Sam is inclined to agree, he knows that by this point, Dean's already corrupted the kid's mind enough. He doesn't voice that thought, however. Some things are best kept a secret. Especially from a certain over-protective celestial being who also just happens to be a parent.

Dean rolls his eyes at Cas and Jack sniggers under his breath before schooling his face into an apologetic mask as he looks at Cas with wide, doe eyes.

_Damn, _Sam thinks. Dean taught Jack well.

Sam watches in amusement as Cas breaks under Jack's gaze and sighs. "I can't win," he declares. He then gets to his feet, and pecks Dean on the lips before muttering something about needing a shower. He claps a hand on Sam's shoulder in greeting, smiling at him just before he leaves the kitchen.

Sam grins at them. "So, Cas speaking Parseltongue yet?"

"Sam, if you make one more _Harry Potter_ joke—"

"Hey, you're the one that wanted to split your soul into two and share it with Cas. You _literally_, by definition, made Cas your Horcrux. You can't expect me not to say anything about it."

"You're annoying," Dean grumbles. He turns to Jack, deciding to ignore Sam. "Okay," he says to the kid, "now we just let it boil, wait for the pasta to soften, add the sauce and voila, dinner is served."

Jack nods, excited, and brings up his little notepad, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he scrawls down Dean's instructions.

"Wow, Dean. I'm so hurt," Sam deadpans.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean says with no real heat as he walks over to the grocery bags.

It's at that moment that Cas walks in with a pout. "The water heater broke again." He looks like a petulant child as he settles back onto his spot at the counter, his head resting on his cupped hands, sullen. He must have really wanted that shower.

"I'll take a look at it," Dean says as he pulls out one item after another from the stuff that Sam just bought, and Sam can practically see Dean crossing them off of his mental list.

Sam waits patiently until Dean gets to the bottom of the last bag. Dean stiffens, looks at it once before glaring at Sam. "This isn't funny, Sammy," he growls as he pulls out a cheap Voldemort figurine.

"Yeah it is," Sam chuckles, grinning mischievously from ear to ear. "It's yours and Cas's love story. Literally. How can I even forget?"

Dean rolls his eyes.

"You have heard of the saying, right?"

"What saying?"

"Love is garnish, love is blind," says Sam, winking. "The First Coriander, Dean. I thought you'd know."

"Bitch," Dean whispers. It only takes a few seconds but Cas soon joins in on the laughter along with Dean and then Jack.

Yet another thing Sam wants to imprint to his memory. The smiling, carefree faces of his son, his brother and his dearest friend. It's taken a lot of ups and downs to heal, but it's been so worth it. It's been worth every struggle to see Dean finally forgive Jack for his errors, to see Dean work twice as hard to make up for the way he treated Jack just after Mary's death. He'd do things as simple as bringing him a glass of water, to, most recently, letting Jack take the Impala out on a drive.

Alone.

If Dean trusts Jack with the Impala, Sam knows things are finally looking up.

He's also never seen Dean this happy with someone and Sam is glad it's Cas he's chosen to open himself up to. Being in relationships in their line of work almost never fare well, but this works. The soul bonding helped too, as did the fact that Billie appeared in Dean's dream, essentially confirming that they'd succeeded in pulling Cas out of the grips of the Empty. Since the Empty has no claim over Dean, Cas, who now shares Dean's soul, can't go there either. Plain and simple.

Cas can finally let himself be happy.

Dean and Cas just _work_. Sam loves how protective they are of one another, how loyal toone another. While he's been woken up every now and then from very loud moans and grunts, something he knows he'll never be able to rid his mind of, he thinks for once he can deal with a little mental scarring if it means that Cas and Dean can be happy together.

Sam's favourite moment, however, had been when Jack had gone looking for Castiel, eager to show him the progress he was making learning Enochian scriptures, only to walk in on Dean and Cas doing the nasty in Dean's room.

"Oh, you're having sex, never mind," he'd said, only to then turn right back around, oblivious to Dean and Cas's obvious discomfort and chagrin. "Have fun," he'd added and then walked back out a smile on his face.

Sam remembers spitting out his coffee and ruining his laptop as Jack had bounded back into the library to recount his experience to Sam.

As the laughter dies down, Sam politely excuses himself, shooting Dean an 'I'm fine, just tired' look in response to Dean's concerned gaze and heads off towards his room.

He should catch up on sleep.

He toes off his boots as he shuts the door behind him and flops down onto his bed. He pulls out the slip of paper Mia Vallens had given him today at his last session with her. An unfamiliar name along with a contact number is written neatly on it.

A psychiatrist. A professional that also has experience dealing with hunters. Sam doesn't have to beat around the bush or lie.

Part of him wishes he could continue with Mia, having gotten used to her presence, but he knows he's not okay and that he needs someone more qualified. Dean and Cas are going to her, though, and so is Jack. They'll be moving on soon too, just like Sam.

This is the first time that Sam's made peace with that fact that he's not completely alright. Some days are good, some not so much, but unlike before, it's easier to handle.

He'll call up the psychiatrist in a couple days. He just needs a few days to himself, to gather and organize his thoughts from his last session with Mia.

It's okay to not be okay.

And it's okay to ask for help.

That's what family is for, and if there's one thing Sam can say he has for sure and can count on, it's family. It's Dean, Cas and Jack, and he knows they'll be around no matter what.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you stuck around till the end, thank you so much for reading! We really hope you liked it! 
> 
> As always, reviews are love!


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